Inside Out
by Titan5
Summary: Brendan battles illness as he and Freya try to gather enough evidence to assure the conviction of a drug-dealing cop killer. Sequel to Stealth Dragon's "Much Needed Company".
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own or have rights to any of this.

**Summary: **Brendan battles illness as he and Freya try to gather enough evidence to assure the conviction of a drug-dealing cop killer. This is meant as a sequel to Kriadydragon's (Stealth Dragon) "Much Needed Company" (read at Matterothemind community at livejournal) and builds on the background she created for Brendan. If you haven't read it – GO NOW!! MANY thanks to her for letting me tag her awesome story and for all of her help!

**Inside Out – Chapter 1**

by Titan5

Glancing at Brendan's empty desk, Freya frowned, quickly shifting her eyes to the clock for what felt like the fortieth time. It was 8:15. Brendan was late. Brendan Dean was _never _late. Obsessively early on a regular basis, but never late. Something had to be wrong.

Freya took a deep breath and walked over to his desk to pick up the phone. The receiver was barely to her ear when the elevator arrived and she heard him, or rather his thoughts, radiating out from behind the opening doors.

_Oh, crap, I'm so late. I can't believe I'm so late, late, late. Why won't the stupid doors open?_

A smile automatically crossed her face as she replaced the receiver and crossed her arms, trying to look stern at the panicked man scurrying out of the elevator before the doors were completely open. The stern look didn't last very long when she caught sight of him.

He'd been back to work almost two weeks now after a battle with pneumonia and losing his mother, but he still didn't look well. He'd only gained back a couple of the pounds he'd lost while sick, and he'd lost quite a few. He'd fought the illness for several days before it finally worsened enough to be called pneumonia and his mother's funeral had only set him back at a time when he was beginning to recover. His color had been better the past few days, but he was back to ghost white this morning and his face was pinched with pain.

"Brendan?"

He threw his coat over the back of the chair as he began almost randomly rummaging through the neat stacks on his desk. "Sorry, I know I'm late, I got up late and then everything went to hell in a handbag," he rambled.

"Brendan," she said again, more forcefully this time.

The frantic motion stopped and he looked up at her, his body tense, but stilled. "What?"

Smiling, Freya breathed out a little sigh. "Calm down. Do you want some coffee?"

"No," he said, pointing to the water bottle he'd apparently brought with him. "I've got some water."

Freya frowned at him again, her concern etching upward. "Why are you late?" she asked suspiciously, already getting a glimmer of an idea.

A guilty look crossed her partner's face just about the time the image flashed through his mind. "I spilled something and had to change." The image told a different story, one of him vomiting onto the kitchen floor, splashing some on his shoes and pant legs. Freya hardened her expression to one more of annoyance than sympathy, letting him know he was caught. _Crap! This isn't fair. Stupid mind replays._

She almost grinned. Almost. "Why on earth did you come in if you were sick?" she asked, knowing he'd have some pat answer.

"I wasn't sick," he said defensively as he dropped into the chair.

Snorting loudly, Freya sat in the chair beside the desk. "Looked that way to me. Let me see, vomiting on the floor. Yep, sick."

Brendan glared at her for a moment. "I was emptying the garbage," he mumbled.

"What?"

"I said I was emptying the garbage. I was on the way out the door and I remembered that the garbage hadn't been taken out in several days and I didn't want it to start stinking." He crinkled his nose, remembering vividly the smell. "When I opened the lid . . . let's just say it was too late to prevent the whole stinking thing. My stomach is still a little flaky and . . . I just kind of lost it."

Freya eyed him critically, searching for any sign of a lie. "And the _only _thing that made you throw up was the smell of the garbage."

Unbidden images of Brendan heaving violently into the toilet flashed quickly through his mind, making Freya shudder. "Only garbage, huh? That was a load of garbage all right." Part of her was angry as she leaned forward and placed her hand up to his forehead, only to have him jerk back from her touch.

"Not here," he warned tightly. "I'm fine, just . . . had something disagree with my stomach. It happens." His expression almost dared her to make more of it than that.

She was at least relieved to find he had no fever in her brief touch of his cool, clammy skin, but she still worried. He looked ill and she could tell he felt ill, even if he wouldn't verbalize it. He'd been through so much lately, both physically as well as emotionally. He didn't need another round of illness, with doctors and medicine and all the things that made him nervous. He was still so thin,

"What disagreed with your stomach? It couldn't be that bag of chips and coke you called lunch yesterday. And I'll bet you didn't bother with supper either, did you?" She wished she could hire someone to follow Brendan around and feed him good meals on a regular basis, at least until he packed some much-needed weight on his frame.

Smiling smugly, Brendan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I had a delicious chicken and broccoli casserole for dinner, with salad and garlic bread."

Freya couldn't stop her mouth from dropping open. "You actually went home and cooked?"

"I didn't say I cooked, just that I ate. Mrs. McCracken down the hall fed me."

Tilting her head a bit, Freya tried to remember ever seeing or hearing about a Mrs. McCracken. She got nothing.

_Ha! Gotcha! _Brendan continued to smile at her. "The reason you don't recognize the name is because she just moved in last week. When I got off the elevator last night, she was trying to get her key in the door with this huge box in her arms and I helped her."

"She fed you a big dinner for helping her with her keys?" asked Freya incredulously.

Shrugging his shoulders, Brendan uncrossed his arms. "Well, not just for that. When I carried the box in her apartment, it was kind of a mess. Furniture was just stacked around in no certain order and she's like sixty or something, so she was having a hard time getting it where she wanted. I helped her with the heavy stuff for a couple of hours and when we were done, she insisted I stay to eat."

Grinning, Freya nodded. That was the Brendan she knew and had come to care about. "That was nice of you. Does she not have any relatives around here?"

Brendan shook his head. "Nah, she said her husband died about ten years ago and they never had kids. It's just her. She recently sold her house for an apartment so she wouldn't have to worry about maintenance and upkeep so much. I thought she seemed kind of lonely." He looked up and into her smiling face. "What?" he asked, almost blushing.

"You're a good egg, you know that?"

Brendan cringed. "A good egg? Who _says _that any more?"

"Me. And you are. But back to the food, do you think you got food poisoning?"

"No, I think it was just me and my stupid stomach. By the time we ate, I was starved and it was really good, so I kind of stuffed it in. I haven't been eating that much at one time since . . . you know, since I was sick. And I haven't had anything that rich in a while; the thing was loaded with cheese. I think the combination of eating a large quantity of rich food way too fast just wreaked havoc with my digestive system." Wincing, he rubbed his stomach lightly. "Stomach's kind of sore, but I actually feel a little better."

Letting out a long breath, Freya studied him a moment. "I still say you look like you should be in bed."

"Freya, I'm fine," he drawled, his eyes shifting to Terri Merriweather as she hurried to his desk.

"Police just picked up Mark Greyson," she said seriously before doing a double-take at Brendan. "You okay, Brendan? Because you don't look so good."

Freya fought the smile she felt fighting to get out. Brendan slid his eyes her way. _Don't say it._ "I'm fine. Tell me about Greyson."

Terry didn't look convinced, but she shook her head and went on. "He showed up at his house about twenty minutes ago and they were waiting for him. He's at the 42nd on West Markham Street. Oh, and your search warrant came through a few minutes ago too. Looks like you're going to have a busy day."

Brendan was already on his feet and grabbing his coat. "Thanks, Terri. Have Kunzel take some guys down to Greyson's house and I'll meet them there after we talk to him. He'll know what to look for." He glanced at Freya as he passed her. "Coming?"

Sighing in irritation, she flashed Terri a brief scowl, only to have the woman respond with an innocent shrug and a weak smile. "Hey, I'm just the messenger."

"I know," Freya said as she whirled around to follow Brendan.

She could barely keep up with his thoughts on the drive to the station as he almost frantically ran through the case in his mind. Mark Greyson was the apparent head of a drug ring that stretched into five states. Some of the illicit chemicals were imported and others were made at various locations scattered across his domain. Months of investigation had culminated in a raid on one of his manufacturing and storage warehouses four days ago, at a time when they knew he would be on hand to be taken down. In spite of all their precautions, he had managed to slip out the back, but not before killing an agent. Brendan had witnessed the cold-blooded murder, something that had haunted his thoughts ever since, but hadn't been able to pursue Greyson in order to try and help Agent Porter. It occurred to her that Porter's death might be one reason Brendan was having stomach problems again.

They jolted to a stop in the precinct parking lot and Freya avoided looking at Brendan. His mind was a mess right now and she knew he was trying to organize his thoughts before confronting Greyson. Hearing his door open, she swung hers open and got out of the car. Taking a deep breath, she closed the door and looked over the roof of the car, expecting to see her partner looking back at her. Nothing. She walked slowly around the back of the vehicle to find him sitting sideways in the seat, his feet on the pavement and bent over double, hands clutched to his stomach.

"Brendan!" She quickly knelt down beside him, grasping his forearm. "Brendan, what's wrong?"

_It's okay . . . just my stomach. It'll pass in a minute. _He let his head drop the remaining two inches to meet his knees with a grunt.

"Brendan, we need to get you home . . . or maybe to a doctor."

The tension in his body relaxed slightly, his arms loosening their hold on his midsection, and he lifted his face from his legs. "No." _It's getting better. Just give me another minute._

Gripping his arm even more firmly, Freya frowned at him. "I'm serious, Brendan, you're sick. You can't do this right now."

Brendan managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, leaning forward slightly with one hand still on his stomach. His face was lined with both pain and determination. "Yes, I can. I _have _to do this. I watched Greyson shoot Bryce in the face at point blank range, like he was nothing. He didn't have to kill him, but he did, because it was easier. I went with them to tell Carmen that he wasn't coming home. He . . . " Brendan's voice choked and trailed off for a moment while he tried to pull himself back together. Pictures flashed through his mind, making Freya shudder. He closed his eyes and Freya clearly saw a woman with long, blonde hair holding a blonde girl of about three open the door to Brendan, Kunzel, and Director Harper. Brendan shook his head, erasing the image from his mind as he stood up and leaned heavily against the roof of the car.

Freya knew when Brendan was this determined, all she could do was provide as much back-up and support as possible. "Fine, we'll go do the interview. But then we take you home."

Much steadier on his feet than moments before, Brendan closed the car door and locked it before turning to face her. "Thanks. Look, I just . . ." He rubbed the back of his head for a moment. "I need to be the one to confront him. He probably doesn't realize anyone saw him, so I need to shake him up a bit. I need you to see if he'll give away any other information that might help us, like the location of his gun. The more evidence we have, the less likely he ends up walking away from this like all the other times we thought we had him."

Freya nodded. "I know. We need to shut him down."

"Yes, before he kills someone else." Brendan's mind flashed briefly back to the shooting, making him wince.

Freya wished Brendan's memory wasn't quite so good, quite so detailed. She couldn't even begin to imagine the nightmares he must have been having lately. "But after we talk to Greyson, we take you home."

"If I don't feel better and if he doesn't give us anything we can use. I'd still like to take a look at his house."

"Brendan! That's too many ifs."

"Best I can do," he said as he began walking quickly to the front door of the police station.

"You're impossible, you know that?" she retorted as she followed him into the building. Some days she thought Brendan Dean would be the death of himself.

Fifteen minutes later, Mark Greyson was escorted into an interrogation room and guided to the seat across the table from them. He was in his mid-thirties, with dirty blonde hair that was at least twice as long as Brendan's and three times as messy. He had several days growth of scraggly beard on him as he glared at them with beady, brown eyes. "I'll be suing all of you for false arrest when you have to let me go for lack of evidence." _Why do they continue to think they can catch me? How afraid of this skinny corpse and his hot girlfriend am I supposed to be? These guys suck at intimidation._

Brendan sat calmly, a small smile on his face, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. After a few seconds, he shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever makes you happy, but I don't think your case will get very far. Not with an eye witness to cold-blooded murder. That also ties you to all the drugs and weapons in that warehouse, by the way. I think it's much more likely that you'll be going away until you're old enough to be a great grandpa. We just stopped by to rub salt in the wounds."

Greyson narrowed his eyes at Brendan. "What eye witness? If it's some druggie or one of the warehouse people, those aren't what I'd call reliable witnesses."

Brendan's smile widened a little. She could almost feel his heart pounding in his chest. Either the pain in his stomach was almost gone or he was no longer aware of it over the rush of confronting Greyson. "How about a federal agent? Think a judge and jury will find that to be a reliable witness?"

Greyson scowled for a moment before leaning back in his chair and breaking out into a grin. "You're bluffing. You ain't got no witness. You ain't got nothing."

The smile on Brendan's face dissolved into a hard, cold expression that made Freya nervous. He leaned forward until he was practically in Greyson's face. "You're wrong . . . again. I was in that warehouse and I saw you shoot Agent Porter in the face. No warning, no attempt to evade him, just shot him point blank in the face."

_He could be lying. I didn't see anyone . . . but I got out of there pretty quickly after that, so I suppose it might be possible. _Greyson silently studied Brendan for several moments. "I still think you're lying."

Brendan glared at the man, keeping his expression neutral and his breathing even. In his mind, he was rounding the corner to see Bryce Porter making his way down an aisle of large crates, his gun held out in front of him. Brendan opened his mouth to let the agent know he was joining him, when Greyson stepped out from behind a crate, shooting Porter square in the face before the agent had so much as a split second to react. The splattering blood and falling body played in slow motion in his head, while Greyson turned and ran. Brendan tried for a shot at the fleeing fugitive as he ran for Porter, but he was never able to get a clear shot around the stored boxes. He heard the back door slam open as he knelt beside Porter to look for the pulse he knew wouldn't be there.

"You were wearing a light blue button up shirt, second button missing. The left side was tucked into your Wrangler jeans, but the right side wasn't. Brown cowboy boots and a dark green coat with brown cuffs and collar. Were you able to get the blood out, or did you have to ditch the clothes?"

Greyson's mouth dropped open. _Son of a bitch, he was there. How does he remember all of that? How did he even see that much? He gets on the witness stand with details like that and I'm a dead man. Which means I have to make sure he never makes it to the witness stand._

Eyes growing wide, Freya glanced at Brendan and then back at Greyson. "Agent Dean has testified at many trials in the past and he's been threatened by some of those people. He knows how to take care of himself."

Brendan and Greyson both looked at her with a slightly confused frown on their face, their thoughts reflecting their expressions. "I'm just saying," she said lamely.

Brendan turned back to Greyson, but the killer continued to stare at her. _It's almost like she could read my mind. _He grinned and shook his head. _What am I thinking? No one can read minds. _Greyson looked back to Brendan, smirking a bit as he leaned back in his chair. "Still, accidents happen."

Freya was proud of Brendan, who didn't react to the threat other than a small shoulder shrug. "That's true, Greyson. Accidents do happen, in prison as well as out. Don't suppose you'd like to clear your conscience by telling me where you put the gun. We'll find it eventually, but it would be easier if you just told me."

Recognizing the stimulus Brendan was using to goad Greyson into thinking of the gun, Freya concentrated on the murder's thoughts. Suddenly he was kneeling on a wooden plank floor and using a knife to lift one of the old, finished boards. Pulling the board out of the way, he picked up a faded red towel and opened it, revealing a gun inside. Freya heard him snicker to himself as he folded the towel back over the weapon and placed it in the hole under the floor. Quickly replacing the board, he stood and stomped it back down with his booted foot and then covered it with a small woven rug. She couldn't tell much about the room, other than it looked like an old structure with one window visible and some junk piled around the edges. Then the memory was gone.

"If there was a gun," taunted Greyson, "and I'm not saying there is, it would be in a place you would never find it. Ever. Guess you'd just better pray nothing happens to you before the trial, because without your testimony, you're high and dry."

Looking at Freya, Brendan raised his brow in a questioning look. "I think we're done here," she said with a smile. Brendan looked relieved as he turned back to Greyson.

"Okay, guess we're done. I'll see you at the trial."

"We'll see," said Greyson.

Brendan and Freya stood and nodded to the guard, who let them out of the room. As soon as they had walked a few steps down the corridor, Brendan turned with his back to the wall and leaned over, his hands leaning against his thighs just above his knees.

"Brendan?" Freya could almost feel the waves of pain rolling through his gut.

_I'm okay, just need to catch my breath. _

"You're not okay. I'm taking you home," she said forcefully, taking him by the arm.

Brendan resisted her tugging, but did manage to stand more upright, one hand going to his stomach. "It is better, believe it or not. Stomach still kind of hurts, but the nausea is pretty much gone. I need to know what you saw. We need to find that gun." His eyes held her, his gaze unwavering.

Greyson's calculated thought about getting rid of Brendan made her shudder. "You know he's going to try to have you killed, right?"

"I kind of figured." Brendan grinned impishly at her. _Worried about me?_

Crossing her arms, Freya glared at him. "Someone has to worry about you, since you obviously don't worry about yourself."

"Don't need to," said Brendan with a smirk. "You worry enough for both of us. Look, I'll be careful, I promise. Now, I really need to know what you learned about that gun. Let's get out of here and you can tell me on the way to Greyson's house." He pushed off the wall and began walking down the dingy, narrow corridor.

They arrived at Greyson't house twenty-five minutes later. Freya had filled Brendan in about Greyson's memory on the way and they were both hoping she would recognize something in the house. Brendan flashed his badge at the police officer who approached them as they got out of their car. Two patrol cars and two unmarked cars were parked in the driveway.

Kunzel met them at the open door with a grim expression. "We've almost searched every inch of this place and nothing. No drugs, no guns, no money. He's either very good or he's got another place somewhere. Did you get anything from your little talk?"

"I got a death threat, but Freya might have something. We need to look around inside."

"Be my guest," said Kunzel, waving his hand dramatically across the living room. "By the way, Dean, you look like . . ." He paused and glanced at Freya. "Uh, crap."

Freya stifled a broad grin, knowing that was not the word he had intended to say. Brendan rolled his eyes, obviously not needing mind-reading skills to figure out the same thing.

"Thanks, Kunzel, I had no idea," he said wryly.

Laughing, Kunzel patted him on the shoulder. "No problem. Let me know if you guys find anything." Brendan watched as the agent walked across the room to talk to one of the men currently searching through the end-table drawers.

"Let's look around," said Brendan. "Let me know if you see anything that looks familiar."

They walked into each room, looked around a moment, and Freya shook her head. Mostly she looked at the floors and none of them appeared even remotely like the one in Greyson's mind. Kunzel was at the front door when they returned and Brendan just shook his head.

"Looks like we struck out too," Brendan said. "This guy is really starting to get under my skin."

"Yeah, well, it's not just you," said Kunzel sadly. "I think we all want him pretty badly."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, looking at the floor. Brendan and Kunzel were having similar thoughts about needing to get Greyson for killing Bryce Porter, about needing to find closure for his wife and child, and about missing a friend and co-worker.

Brendan cleared his throat and looked back up at Kunzel. "We're going to head back to the office."

Freya's head jerked up. "We are? I thought I was taking you home. Stomach . . . remember?"

His expression hardening, Brendan shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Greyson obviously has another place somewhere and we need to find it. We need that gun."

"Yes, we need the gun. But if we don't find it, we still have you."

Brendan looked at her for a moment and Kunzel was unusually silent. "We need something else. We need physical evidence," said Brendan.

"Why?" asked Freya, glaring at her partner.

_There's always a chance something could go wrong and I can't testify. You know how things are . . . how unpredictable. _She winced at his memory of Bryce being shot and he looked away, avoiding her gaze. "We need to go. The sooner we get back, the sooner we'll find something." He brushed past her, walking quickly toward the car.

Kunzel shifted uncomfortably. _Smooth, Dean. Piss her off and leave me standing here. _"He, uh, gets like this . . . you know, when he's feeling stressed out over a case. He'll be okay."

Freya smiled, appreciating the fact that Kunzel was trying to smooth things over, in his own inept way. "I know, I'm his partner, remember. I just worry about him sometimes."

Kunzel glanced around at Brendan climbing into the car. "We all do." He turned to face her, his expression serious, but genuine. "Keep after him. You're good for him and he needs that, whether he's aware of it or not."

Smiling, Freya nodded. "Thanks, I will." She turned and sprinted for the car, which was now running. She could see Brendan impatiently drumming his fingers along the top of the steering wheel, but she still smiled. Annoyed as he was, he still hadn't left her.

oOo

Freya set the sack down on the edge of Brendan's desk as he rubbed his eyes and looked up at her. "I got you a plain turkey sandwich, thinking it might be easy on your stomach," she said as she pulled the food out and set it in front of him.

Brendan looked down at the sandwich uncertainly. His stomach felt better right now than it had all day and he was afraid to send it back into spasms by sticking food in it too soon. He looked up at Freya to find her watching him closely.

"You said you were okay, so eat," she said, motioning toward the food.

"I just don't want any repeat performances." He looked back down at the paper wrapping and realized he was getting hungry. Sighing, he unwrapped the deli sandwich and cautiously took a bite. The smell and taste only made him more hungry, so he chewed with renewed vigor. Looking around his desk, he spotted his water bottle and washed the bite down with the tepid liquid, only to find Freya grinning at him. "What?"

"You actually are better . . . and hungry."

Brendan grinned. _Yes, I am. Thanks for lunch and . . . _"I'm sorry about being grouchy earlier. I just hate being . . . looked after."

"I kind of figured that one out a while ago," Freya replied. "But sometimes you need a little looking after. Besides, it's not like you've never looked after me. Remember when I sprained my ankle a few months ago. You waited on me hand and foot for two days."

Brendan chuckled briefly before taking another bite. After he'd chewed and swallowed, he nodded. "I did take care of you then, didn't I? Of course it was the least I could do since you sprained it trying to warn me about Williams having a gun."

"See," she teased. "We take care of each other." She was relieved to see Brendan's disposition had improved. That, combined with the way he was wolfing down the sandwich, made her smile as the tension eased from her shoulders. "You must be starved. I rarely see you eat like this."

Taking another swig of his water, Brendan glanced down at the sandwich, which was now over half gone. "I was. I guess digging through all this paperwork really worked up an appetite. I told you my stomach was better."

"Well, it's about time. You were starting to look like a scarecrow."

Brendan narrowed his eyes as he chewed. _That was just mean._

Freya just smiled as she popped a couple of chips in her mouth. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, wadding their paper up as they finished and tossing it in the trash can. Brendan brushed a few stray crumbs from his desk, adding them and his water bottle to the garbage. "Back to work," he mumbled as he opened the folder and began sifting through the papers.

Freya grabbed the next folder from the stack and began her own scrutiny of the forms and papers within. A few minutes later, the desk rattled, causing her to look up at Brendan.

_Oh, crap! _The only thing she had time to notice before he jumped up so fast he sent his chair spinning was how white his face was. He was gone almost instantly. When she finally registered what had happened, she got up and headed for the hallway he'd disappeared down, pausing just outside the men's bathroom door. She was trying to decide whether she should burst in or not, when Agent Patel came out, his face scrunched up in disgust.

"Is Brendan in there?" she asked.

He nodded. "He should really go home, uh, when he's done puking." _I almost lost my own lunch._

Grimacing, Freya nodded at the door. "Anyone else in there?"

"Nope, just Dean. Luck."

Freya took a deep breath and walked in. She passed a row of urinals, making her way to the two stalls near the back of the room. Peering into the open door of the first, she found Brendan sitting in the floor, his forehead resting on his arm, which was slung across the toilet. His eyes were closed and he was panting, as if trying to catch his breath.

"Brendan?"

He lifted his head and opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly turned to lean over the toilet bowl as he began heaving. Freya grabbed several paper towels and dampened them in the sink. When Brendan finally stopped with an exhausted groan, she handed him the towels. Wiping his face, he handed her the wad of damp paper with a shaking hand.

_Thanks. Now go away._

Freya threw the used towels away and crossed her arms as she turned back to him. "I'm not going anywhere, unless it's to take you home." Brendan's head was now resting on the edge of the toilet bowl, making Freya cringe. She was glad they had the cleanest bathroom in the state, or at least close to it.

_I'd let you, but I don't think I can get up._

The confession both startled and scared her and she kneeled down beside him, placing her hand on his back and rubbing gently. "Take a minute to rest and then I'll help you. I think maybe we should stop by the hospital."

Brendan's head shot up, making her jump. "No, Freya . . . no hospital." His mind was once again filled with images of himself as a child, looking small and frail in the hospital bed while his mother hovered nearby. _I just need to go home and lie down. I'll be okay._

The sound of the door opening caused them both to look around. Freya sucked in a quick breath at the sight of Director Harper standing just inside the doorway. "Uh, sir, I can explain," she stammered as she stood up.

_What in . . . _Harper frowned and then looked curious as he slowly walked over to stand beside her. When he caught sight of Brendan in the floor, his expression eased. "Dean, dare I ask what you're doing down there?" _My god, he's white as a sheet._

Clearing his throat, Brendan tried to sit up straighter. "Uh . . . throwing up, sir," he said sheepishly.

Harper stared down at him for a second before shifting his gaze to Freya, who gave him a small nod. "I'll see that he gets home."

Looking relieved, Harper glanced back down at his top agent, currently looking more like a washed out dishrag than a federal agent. _I hope I haven't pushed him too hard and made him sick again. Poor kid's been through enough lately. _"Dean, go home. You look like death warmed over. Or maybe just death. And don't come back until you're well . . . as in not sitting in the bathroom floor puking."

Brendan managed to use the door of the stall as leverage to get himself up off the floor. Freya was a bit surprised to see him able to accomplish that and apparently Harper was too. "I'll be fine, sir, just need some Pepto and a nap." Brendan tried to smile, but the discomfort he was obviously still feeling caused it to look more like an evil grimace.

Harper snorted loudly and shook his head. "It'll take more than that, Agent Dean. We have Greyson in custody. There's no need to run yourself into the ground. Stay home a couple of days and get over . . . whatever this is." Harper wrinkled his nose. "_Please, _for all our sakes."

Brendan watched Harper leave, his ashen face taking on that crestfallen look of a boy just told he couldn't play with his best friend. _We still need to find that gun._

"Yes," Freya said, reaching over to flush the toilet. "But we don't have to find it today."

Brendan raised and then lowered his eyebrows, letting out a deep breath before staggering over to the sink to wash his hands. He then cupped his hand to catch the water so he could rinse his mouth out. When he turned the water off, Freya thrust a paper towel at him.

"Are you going to let me take you home and tuck you in, or do I have to get ugly about this?" she asked seriously.

Wadding the damp paper into a ball, he threw it at the waste can. "Fine, I'll go home . . . for now."

Freya watched the paper ball hit the wall and drop into the can. "Good, wise move Agent Dean." That brought Brendan's eyebrows up. "Do you have any Pepto at your apartment or should we stop at the store?"

Wincing, Brendan reached for the door. "I've still got some. I've had to keep a supply on hand lately. What I should have done is buy stock in the company." They walked out into the hall, earning a step back and some strange looks from a pair of secretaries heading into the women's restroom.

Brendan, ghostly pale and barely on his feet, dredged up a small smile from somewhere as he pointed to Freya. "She gets confused sometimes."

Sick or not, Freya punched him in the arm hard enough to get a grunt.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Inside Out - Chapter 2**

By Titan5

Freya had to bite her lip to keep from saying anything as she watched Brendan's shaking hand try to get the key in the lock. She was two seconds from grabbing his hand to steady it when he finally managed to shove the thing in and open the door. Stumbling inside unsteadily, he veered sideways against the easy chair, grabbing the arm for support. He then seemed to use the furniture to propel himself forward and down the hall. She heard the bathroom door slam a few seconds later.

Closing the apartment door, Freya made her way down the hall, pausing outside the closed door. She heard the water running a few seconds later. Almost as soon as it stopped, the door opened and Brendan stepped partway through it, then leaned against the doorframe for support. She didn't know how, but he looked even more pale than before.

A stray memory of his father holding his young body upright as he puked over a toilet flitted through his mind and he rubbed his face vigorously until the picture faded away. Freya didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. He lurched forward finally, moving toward the bedroom, and she followed, watching as he plopped down to sit on the side of the bed.

"Did you take some Pepto?" she asked, watching him lean forward and put his face in his hands.

"No," came the muffled response. _Got distracted and forgot._

"I'll get it." She returned a few minutes later with a small plastic cup containing thick, pink liquid and a half empty water bottle she'd found in the refrigerator. "Here, drink this," she commanded, handing him first the pink liquid and then the water. He washed down the medicine with a few drinks of water and then set the bottle on the nightstand.

"Thanks."

Freya stood awkwardly for a moment, worried at how quiet Brendan's mind seemed. "You want me to help you with anything?"

He looked up at her and then down at his feet. "Nah, I got it. Thanks." Leaning over, he clumsily removed his shoes and then began trying to pull his coat off. His arms didn't seem to want to cooperate, so Freya ignored his earlier statement and helped pull his coat off, followed by removing his tie. He didn't fight her on either action, so she figured he didn't care that she was helping. He even sat quietly and let her unbutton and remove his shirt, leaving him in his undershirt.

When she turned around from laying his shirt over a chair along with his tie, Brendan was pulling himself back on the bed and curling up in a tight ball. Approaching, she noticed he looked like he was sweating, but he was shivering as he groaned and clutched his stomach.

"Brendan, are you cold?" she asked, touching her hand to his forehead. His skin was cool and clammy, so at least he didn't have a fever.

_A little._

Freya grabbed the blanket folded at the foot of the bed and shook it out, laying it across her partner's body.

"Thanks," he said quietly. _You don't have to stay._

Freya resisted the urge to snort. As if she was leaving him alone like this. "Actually, I think I'll stay a while, maybe watch a little TV. Let me know if you need anything."

He shuddered, his mind focused on riding out a wave of pain. When it ended, she could see his body relax a bit against the mattress. She waited a few seconds, making sure he seemed okay before she returned to the living room and sat on the couch. She stared at the blank TV for a while before turning it on, trying to figure out what was wrong with her partner. She was getting worried.

She had the volume turned down so low she could barely hear the television, so she was aware of Brendan hitting the bathroom at a run less than half an hour later. Moving quickly down the hall, she noted that he hadn't had time to close the door, leaving it open for her to see him heaving into the toilet. The pink-tinted vomit let her know the Pepto wasn't doing him any good.

When he stood on shaky legs a few minutes later, she had a damp cloth ready for him to wipe his face. After rinsing his mouth, he lifted his head to look at her with heavy lidded eyes. _This really sucks. Now my throat hurts._

Not only did he not protest when she grabbed him and wrapped her arm around his waist to help him back to bed, he even leaned against her. The images that played through his head this time were of his father picking him up from the bathroom floor and carrying him to bed because he was too weak to stand after a bout of vomiting. His mother hovered by the bed, waiting to tuck his tiny, frail body back in. The pain of worry he saw in his father's face as he lay on the bed looking up at him almost made Freya cry. She would never truly understand how his mother could have done that to her only son, and she knew Brendan struggled with that as well. How could you watch someone you love suffer like that and then make it happen all over again?

When she had him settled, she tucked the covers around him and gently ran her hand down the side of his face, skin still cool to the touch. The fever she expected just never seemed to materialize. Stomach virus maybe? "Brendan, I'm taking you to the doctor in the morning. You're going to get dehydrated like this."

His eyes were closed and his breathing even. He was already asleep. No matter. She wasn't arguing the point, she was hauling him to a doctor or an ER tomorrow before he collapsed.

She went to the hall closet and got out a blanket and pillow. She'd be sleeping on the couch tonight, in case he got worse. No way was she leaving him alone. She pulled out the small suitcase in the corner of the closet and closed the door, heading up front with her loot. They had not only given each other a key to their apartments a few weeks ago, but had started keeping a couple of changes of clothes and a toothbrush at the their partner's place. There were times when they ended up at one apartment and needed to hole up there for a while. Other times, they unexpectedly stayed with the other to help them out when they were sick or injured. At some point they had decided this arrangement would probably come in handy, as it was now.

Freya grinned as she snuggled under the blanket. They had elected not to tell anyone of their little deposits, knowing it would get the rumor mill running overtime with no one believing their explanation of it just being for the sake of convenience. Too many people wanted them to be more than partners. They were more than partners, just not in a sexual way. She didn't know if she wanted that to ever change or not. It had interesting prospects, but she also liked what they had right now. She didn't relish the idea of screwing that up and she didn't think Brendan did either. They were family for now and it would probably stay that way for the foreseeable future.

After a movie and some odd science fiction show, Freya let the yawn tell her it was time to sleep. She turned off the TV and checked on Brendan. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully and wasn't curled up in a tight ball any more. She hoped that meant he wasn't hurting any longer. Crawling back under her own blanket, she barely remembered getting settled before she was sound asleep herself.

oOo

"Hey, sleepyhead, time for breakfast." Freya opened her eyes, trying to figure out why someone was in her apartment so early in the morning. Brendan's pale, but smiling face hovering over her caught her off guard for a moment until she remembered she was on his couch. Before she was lucid enough to comment, he disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving her slightly bewildered at his good mood.

"I'm pouring you some orange juice now and your eggs are getting cold," came the voice from the kitchen. Shaking her head, Freya stood up and staggered a bit to the kitchen entrance. The small table was set with two plates, one bearing a heaping mound of scrambled eggs and two slices of toast, the other with only one piece of toast. It was easy to figure out which plate belonged to whom. Brendan glanced over as he opened a fresh carton of orange juice. "Hey, you're up."

Yawning, Freya momentarily covered her mouth. "Yeah, I'm up. Be right back." She returned from the bathroom a few minutes later to find her partner sitting at the table, nibbling on his toast. "I hope this means you feel better," she said as she sat down.

"Much," he said enthusiastically. "I guess I just needed to sleep it off. Not even nauseous this morning."

Freya pointed to his toast with her fork. "That's not much of a breakfast for someone who feels so good."

Smiling sheepishly, he shrugged his shoulders. "Not taking any chances of overdoing it and going back to square one. I think that's what happened yesterday with the sandwich. I ate too much too fast. Besides," he said with a small grimace. "My stomach's kind of sore this morning."

"Wonder why?" Freya said with a snort.

Brendan paused long enough to cast her a scornful look before taking another small bite of toast. _Be nice or I won't let you sleep so long next time, much less make you breakfast._

Swallowing her juice, Freya grinned as she set her glass down. "Thank you for the breakfast by the way. This is really good. Sure you don't want some?"

Scowling, Brendan shook his head. "No, eggs on my stomach when it's like this is not good."

"You have a headache too," she said, reading his pained wince when he moved his head. She was also noticing the way he squinted his eyes a little more than usual.

"Little one," he admitted. "I'd take a Tylenol, but I'm trying to be extra cautious with what I put in my stomach right now. I'll grab some later if things stay put for a while." Brendan took his empty plate over to the sink and rinsed it off.

Freya moved to join him with her own plate when she noticed he was dressed already. Obviously, she was holding him up. "I'll just grab a quick shower and then we can go. You could lie down for a few minutes and I'll give a yell when I'm ready to go."

"I'll just watch the news while you're getting ready. It's still only 6:30, so take your time."

"Okay," she said, watching him walk into the living room. She thought about bringing up the doctor again, but with his stomach settling for the moment, she knew it would be a battle. Sighing, she headed for her suitcase, deciding she'd just have to keep a close eye on him today and make sure he was really okay.

oOo

Brendan let the edge of the paper slide out of his fingers so he could bring his hand up to rub the side of his throbbing head.

"Headache still not any better?" asked Freya, eyeing him suspiciously. He knew she was worried about him and he hated that, but the low ache had built to a dull throb and then progressed to a stabbing pain behind his eyes. He could barely see the papers in the file in front of him.

"Not so much," he admitted, knowing full well she already knew the answer to her question. He jerked the top drawer on his right open and yanked out a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol, pouring out three pills.

"Hey, partner, I thought you were watching out for your stomach," Freya warned.

Brendan downed the pills with the remainder of the Coke on his desk, lukewarm from sitting out so long. "My stomach is fine," he snapped.

Recoiling, Freya frowned at him as she pushed her chair back a little. "Whoa, there fella, I was just checking."

Chewing his lip a second, Brendan sighed and closed the file on his desk. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. Guess I'm just getting frustrated."

Freya watched him and he could feel her eyes trying peel away the layers and see what was going on in his head. Sometimes keeping his thoughts to himself was a challenge, but with his aching body and throbbing head, it was just impossible. There it was, that worried look again.

"It's almost six. Why don't we quit for the night and start fresh tomorrow," she suggested. "To tell you the truth, I'm starting to see double myself." She set her file down on the corner of the desk and stifled a yawn. She really did look almost as tired as he felt.

"Okay, maybe you're right. I am kind of bushed."

"Great," she said with a big, relieved smile. "Come on and I'll buy you dinner."

"Still trying to feed me?" he quipped.

"Trying. Is it working?"

Brendan almost laughed at the hopeful look on her face. He rubbed his stomach, which felt decidedly empty. He'd had a few crackers from the break room for lunch along with the soda he'd just finished off. Although still sore with slightly unsteady moments, for the most part his stomach felt okay. "Okay, you're on. Let's go eat."

"Great!" she said as she popped up from her chair. This time Brendan did laugh, earning himself a scowl and a set of crossed arms.

"You are way too perky for this time of day," he complained as he pulled himself to his feet to join her in a walk for the elevator. As he drew up beside her, she punched him in the arm so hard it made his eyes water.

"And do not _ever_ call me perky again."

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, rubbing his throbbing bicep. He was really going to have to speak to her about her recent violent tendencies, especially when they were directed toward his arm.

oOo

Late the next morning, Freya thought they had finally caught a break. She arrived at the office a little before eight to find Brendan already knee deep in files. They had seven boxes of files from almost three years of trying to nail Greyson to go through and they'd barely made a dent. Brendan's mind had been quiet except for reading the files and mentally cross matching with other things he'd read or remembered and then trying to figure out how it could help them. But there were overtones of discomfort, waxing and waning as the morning wore on. He claimed to be all right, but he didn't look well. His complexion was pale and he shifted around almost constantly, like he couldn't find a comfortable position, alternately rubbing his stomach, then his head or his neck.

Shortly before eleven, he went rigid and then stood up, knocking papers off his desk as he read the one in his hand. "I think this is it," he breathed out, almost like he was afraid to verbalize the possibility. "We'll need a search warrant," he said as he hurried off to find Merriweather.

Freya sat back in relief, hopeful that this would be the lead they needed to nail Greyson once and for all. There would be no reason to have Brendan killed if there was enough physical evidence to convict him without the agent's testimony. Plus, maybe she could finally get Brendan to relax and take care of himself before he worked himself into the hospital again. She laughed at herself when she realized she had unwittingly crossed her fingers at some point.

Brendan returned a few minutes later and grabbed his coat. "Terri's working on getting the search warrant now. We're heading over there and Kunzel will meet us with the warrant and some backup ASAP."

Reaching for her coat, Freya frowned up at her partner. "And exactly _where _is it we're going again?"

Brendan grinned mischievously as he walked past her. "I thought you read minds."

"Not when they're going light speed in three different directions at once. Gives me a headache. So where are we going, oh great one?"

Stepping into the elevator, Brendan pulled his coat around him and punched the button. "Great one . . . I like that. Well, since you asked so nicely, we're going to an old house near the warehouse district that is rented by a company that is co-owned by a company that Greyson is a partner in."

"Right," Freya drawled.

"Let's just say that the company doesn't look exactly legit, although enough effort has been put into it that it doesn't immediately raise any red flags."

"Unless you're scrutinizing it because one of the owners has committed murder," added Freya as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Exactly!"

Freya had to admit that the excitement of possibly getting Greyson had put some color back into Brendan's face and added some energy to his steps. She crossed her fingers again that this would provide the evidence they needed.

oOo

The old white frame house at the end of the narrow street was in dire need of a coat of paint. Most of the other buildings in the area had been condemned or torn down, leaving the structure alone at the end of the road. Brendan and Freya sat in the car looking at the pitiful sight for over an hour before Kunzel drove up with three patrol cars.

"Stay here," Brendan said as he opened the door.

"You're joking, right?" she asked as she stepped out to join him.

"No, you stay here until we clear the place and then you can come in." He opened the trunk and threw in his jacket, replacing it with a Kevlar vest. Kunzel came over waving a piece of paper.

"Got the warrant. You ready?"

Brendan nodded and slammed the trunk shut. "Ready. Send four guys around to the back and have one at each side in case anyone goes out a window. The rest of us will go in the front door." Turning to Freya, he pointed at her, his expression rock hard. "You _will _wait in the car until I call for you, understand?" _This is not negotiable._

Sighing heavily, Freya nodded, knowing there was no way he was backing down on this. "Fine, I'll wait safely in the car like a little girl."

"Thank you," he said with a smile before motioning toward Kunzel and heading for the house. She climbed into the car, watching him check her position before knocking on the front door.

When no one answered the locked door, Brendan and Kunzel kicked it in and entered, with two policemen going in right behind them. Freya watched, waiting not so patiently for them to come out and wave to her. It seemed like they had been in the house for a long time, when she finally saw movement. "About time," she murmured to herself.

Something was wrong. The policemen came running out the front door with Kunzel and Brendan just a few yards behind them. Everyone, including the men at the side of the house, was running away from the structure. Freya got out of the car and had barely taken a step when the house went up in a huge, fiery explosion that almost knocked her to the ground. Brendan and Kunzel both sailed through the air as if they'd been flung by some invisible alien force, skidding face down in the dirt and gravel driveway for several feet.

Freya took off running toward her partner and was quickly joined by the police. She was almost there when Brendan's left hand came up just far enough to pat Kunzel on the shoulder. It was then, as she knelt next to him, that she noticed a small tendril of smoke curling up toward the sky. Kunzel lifted his head to glance back over his shoulder.

"Damn . . . my best suit."

"You're welcome," Brendan said hoarsely before launching into a coughing fit. He pulled himself up to his elbows in order to breathe through the spell.

"Brendan, are you guys all right?" asked Freya, gently rubbing his back.

As soon as he stopped coughing, Brendan rolled over on his back and slowly sat up. "We're fine," he said, glancing over to Kunzel as if to check on the accuracy of his statement. Kunzel was shifting around to a sitting position as well.

Both men looked down at their shredded hands and torn sleeves, speckled with dirt, gravel, and little spots of blood. Even the knees of their pants were torn and a little bloody. Brendan had a cut on his right cheek that was oozing a trail of blood, while Kunzel had almost no skin left on his chin.

"You're bleeding," Kunzel said, pointing to Brendan's cheek. Brendan wiped the trail of blood away and then nodded to Kunzel.

"That's okay, you skinned your chin." Brendan suddenly chuckled. "Skinned your chin and your shin. I'm a poet and don't know-it."

"Your feet must be Longfellow's," quipped Kunzel with a sloppy grin.

The policeman who had walked up to stand behind the two men frowned down at Freya. "Are they okay?"

"I'm not sure at this point," she said seriously, regarding the two disheveled men sitting before her. "They seem to have been knocked silly."

Brendan looked up over his shoulder. "Did everyone get out okay?"

The policeman nodded. "Yes, sir, everyone is accounted for. You two were closest to the blast. The fire department and paramedics are on the way."

"I don't need a paramedic," said Brendan. He looked up at Kunzel. "Do you?"

Kunzel shook his head. "Nope. Could use about ten Tylenols though."

"At least," replied Brendan, rubbing the side of his head. "And I thought I had a headache before." He glanced back around at Freya. "You're okay, right?"

Freya sat back in the gravel and shook her head at him. "I'm fine, I was in the car, remember? What happened?"

Taking a deep sigh and looking forlornly up at the huge pile of burning rubble, Brendan let out a small moan. "It was booby-trapped. I should have expected that. I should have seen that coming a mile away." He clenched his right hand into a fist and pounded his already injured hand against the ground. _I should have been more careful._

"Well, one of us should have thought of that for sure, but you can't take all the blame on this one, Dean," said Kunzel, looking about as angry with himself as Brendan was. "We must be having rookie mistake day or something."

"Yeah, something," Brendan muttered bitterly.

Freya followed their gaze to the flames that were close enough she could feel the heat radiating off the debris. "Was there anything in there?"

Brendan stared at the flames for a few seconds before turning his battered face to look at her. "Only the mother lode," he whispered.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Inside Out - Chapter 3**

Freya watched the two agents in front of her limp carefully out of the elevator before stepping out herself with a frustrated sigh. It turned out Kunzel was just as hard headed as Brendan, so she wasn't sure if was a guy thing or an NSA agent thing. Both had refused to go to the hospital to be checked out, which had been heavily suggested by the paramedics that responded to the explosion. It had taken all three of them to convince the agents to allow the medics to clean and patch some of their visible wounds. Brendan now sported a butterfly bandage on his cheek, while Kunzel had finally allowed them to wrap his sprained left wrist.

She couldn't help the stern expression she knew she carried as she watched Brendan slowly lower himself into his chair, while Kunzel gave a pained wave and headed for his own desk.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, standing at the edge of his desk.

Brendan pulled the bottle of Tylenol from his top drawer and looked up at her. His face was scraped and bruised from his grand slide along the gravel, leaving his brow furrowed in pain. "Water?"

She heard his thoughts loud and clear as she returned with a bottle of water a few minutes later. _I don't think there's a single square inch of me not bruised or cut or scraped. God, I hurt all over._

She set the water down in front of him, not getting a clear look at exactly how many pills he had in his hand. "You need to clean the cuts on your knees before they get infected."

"Yeah, I know," he said after he'd downed half the bottle. "I just need a minute." _I still can't believe I let this happen._

Freya dropped into her standard chair and watched Brendan try to straighten the mess on his desk. She stared at the scrapes and bruises that covered his forearms, now visible since his shirt sleeves were still rolled up from where the paramedics had cleaned his wounds. It had been painful to watch them extract several small pieces of gravel from a couple of the deeper cuts. He'd ignored their suggestion he might need a few stitches, but had allowed the deeper ones to be bandaged.

"You never told me what was in that house," she said, trying to distract him.

His hands went instantly still and then dropped down to sit on the desk in front of him. Sighing heavily, he let his eyes come up to meet hers. "Drugs . . . weapons . . . boxes of the stuff needed to make more drugs . . . a computer that probably had everything we needed . . . I still can't believe it's all gone. I figure the gun he used to kill Bryce was in there as well."

They didn't say anything for a minute and Bryce's killing soon began replaying in Brendan's head again. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, putting his face in his hands. _Sorry, Bryce._

"This is not over, Brendan, so quit apologizing to ghosts." His head snapped up to stare at her, making her feel a little guilty about her comment. But she had to get him to focus and quit playing the blame game. "We still have you."

"Yeah . . . for now."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head only to grimace at the motion. "I just mean . . . we need something more solid."

"I wish you could see what the room he hid the gun in looked like, so you'd . . . " Freya smacked herself in the forehead. "What's wrong with me? Just replay it in your head. Go through all the rooms again so I can see what they looked like and I can tell you if that's where the gun was."

Brendan let his head drop forward almost low enough to hit the desk. _Of course, like what we did on our first case together with Gazal. Duh! _

He began with him and Kunzel kicking the door in, entering a living room filled with boxes. He narrated the trip through the house, as they went room to room checking for any sign of danger, noting the boxes carefully stacked in each room and the contents of any that were open or marked. She was once again amazed at the detail of the memory, as if she was watching it on a TV screen.

In the last room, Brendan was checking between two rows of boxes stacked almost as tall as he was when the reflection of a flashing red light near the floor caught his attention. Bending down, he was able to see a black panel with red numbers flashing, telling him he had less than a minute. "Bomb! Get out now!" he yelled.

"I think you know what happened next," he said, gently touching the butterfly bandage on his face with one finger.

"Brendan . . . did you see every room? Was that the whole house?"

"Oh, yeah, that was it. We were on the last room when I saw the bomb." Brendan straightened a bit and stared at her. "Why?"

Grinning, Freya let out a deep breath. "Because none of those rooms were the one Greyson hid his gun in. It wasn't in there. We can still find it."

Brendan slowly licked his lips. "Please tell me you're serious," he said softly.

"I'm serious."

"We've got to get back to work, then," he said, grabbing a handful of files from the box next to his chair. "There's got to be something else in here."

Reaching across his desk, Freya took the files from his hand and set them near the edge of the desk. "But first, you need to take care of those knees."

"It's just some scratches, Freya, it can wait. I'm not five any . . . " Brendan's face flushed and he looked away for a moment while he composed himself. Glimpses of five year old Brendan, sick and weak, being carried by his father, flashed through his mind. "It can wait," he finally said.

"Brendan," she drawled, reaching out to put her hand on his. "We just got you back on your feet. I don't want you to get sick again, and you're already struggling. I worry. Please . . . let's just call it a day and go home. You need to take care of your injuries."

Brendan stared at her a moment, looking angry and frustrated, before finally sighing and leaning back in the chair. He rubbed his face and then looked at her. "Fine. I am kind of sore."

"Thank you," she said evenly.

After a moment, the twinkle returned to his eyes and he smiled at her. _No, thank you._

He was slowly pushing himself to his feet when Terri Merriweather walked up and put her hands on her hips. "Why are you still here? I just saw Kunzel and ran him out of here. You look at least as bad as he does, so go home before I sic Harper on you."

Brendan put his hands up defensively. "I'm going, I'm going. My other keeper over there already nagged me into leaving."

"Oh." Terri turned to Freya. "Good job, kiddo. Are you making sure he gets home in one piece?"

"Absolutely," Freya said.

_Thank goodness she came along when she did. Brendan needs someone to keep an eye on him and God knows I can't keep up with him. _Terri turned back to Brendan and pointed her index finger at him. "You listen to her."

Brendan winced when he shifted his weight to his right leg, the motion pulling on his shredded knees that were tacky with drying blood. "Is Kunzel getting escorted home?" he asked petulantly.

Narrowing her eyes at him, Terri crossed her arms. "Yes, as a matter of fact he is. Patel got that job. He got back from court just in time to do the honors. Any more questions?"

Brendan's expression softened. "Oh, uh, no. Guess we're heading home now."

"That's what I thought." Terri turned around and flashed Freya a big smile. "Take care of him."

"I always do," Freya said, nodding at Terri and then smiling at Brendan. "Come on, let's get you home and I'll make you dinner. We kind of missed lunch."

Brendan moved slowly and stiffly the first few steps, groaning as his muscles protested the movement. _Crap. I feel like I got blown up._

"Funny, Brendan. Real funny."

oOo

Brendan stood in the bathroom, looking down at his mutilated pants. They were stuck to the dried blood on his knees in a couple of spots and he knew it was going to hurt like crazy when he pulled them off. His entire body seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat, his headache was nearing migraine proportions, and his stomach was starting to churn and lurch again. Leaning against the sink, he closed his eyes a moment against the swirling motion the room seemed to have begun making.

"Brendan, are you all right in there?"

He smiled and opened his eyes as the dizziness passed. "Fine, Freya, I'm fine. Just slow."

"Well if I don't hear water running in the next five minutes, I'm coming in to help," she threatened.

"I thought you were cooking dinner, not harassing me while I'm in pain. You'd think being blown up would earn me some sympathy," he complained as he pulled his shirt off. Leaning over, he turned the water in the tub on. "There, running water. Happy?"

"No, but I will be when you get out of there. By the way, you have no food, do you know that?"

Talking through the door was doing nothing for Brendan's headache. "Just . . . I'll be out in a minute, Freya." He was just so tired.

"Brendan . . . it's okay . . . just call me if you need help."

There it was, the worried tones again. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead. "Okay . . . but I'm fine, Freya, really." He pulled his pants down about halfway and sat on the toilet seat to peel them off his knees. Dried blood and tissue fluid holding the frayed fabric to his abraded skin made him grit his teeth as he separated the two. A minute later he climbed in the shower, which was a blend of heaven for his muscles and hell for his injuries. By the time he stepped out from under the spray a few minutes later, he was shaking.

Brendan dried off quickly so he could wrap the towel around his waist and sit down on the toilet seat again before he fell. He was getting lightheaded and the nausea was really beginning to kick up a notch. He glanced down at his skinned knees, taking him back to his days of learning to skateboard. Smiling, he made note of the fact that he did have some good memories from his childhood. Realistically, most of his memories after he recovered from being poisoned were good, except for dealing with what his mother had done. He closed his eyes a moment, working to push back the emotions trying once again to surface. How do you stop obsessing over the fact that most of the first five years of your life were spent sick, in and out of the hospital, all because your mother was poisoning you?

The weird thing was, that he was never really able to get angry at her. He knew from early on that his mother loved him and that she was mentally ill, that she didn't really understand that she was hurting him, even though she watched him suffer through almost every day. Sometimes he really struggled with the whys and what ifs. What if he'd been a better child? What if he'd given her more attention when he was well? His father had talked him through all of this a long time ago, but sometimes, especially when he was ill or hurt, they just kept creeping into his mind, unbidden.

He startled at a sharp rap on the door. "What?" he snapped.

"Sorry . . . dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

Sighing, Brendan grabbed the gauze and disinfectant from the counter next to the sink. "Okay, I'll be out in a minute."

"Don't forget to use the disinfectant and antibacterial ointment on those knees."

Brendan had to smile at that as he dabbed the stinging solution on his knees and then hissed. _Ouch, ouch, ouch._

"Oh, I guess you're doing that. I'll see you in a minute."

"'kay," he hissed out between clenched teeth. After fanning his burning knees a few seconds, he carefully applied the ointment, which stifled the flames just a bit, and then got dressed in the sweats he'd brought with him.

She was waiting for him in the hall, watching him critically as he walked slowly and carefully from the bathroom. He tilted his head a little, trying to read the unusual expression on her face. "What?"

"We talked about the guilt thing already, you know. Right after your mom's funeral."

He had to think for a moment before he could pinpoint what she was talking about. "Oh, yeah, I do kind of remember that."

"_Kind_ of remember?" she said quizzically.

Brendan smiled sheepishly. "I was a little groggy at the time. You and dad woke me up from a perfectly good nap to eat, as I recall." She grinned at him and for a moment, he forgot how much his body hurt. "I do remember what you said that day. I remember every word and I've thought about a lot of times since. Some days . . . well, it's helped me through a few rough days since then." He looked down at his feet, a little embarrassed at confessing what a hard time he'd been having dealing with his mom's death. It wasn't like Freya didn't already know, but he found it nerve-wracking to make these confessions out loud.

Taking his arm, she began gently guiding him to the kitchen. "Friends, remember. It's what we do. And just so you know, I meant every word. Now, about dinner, I want you to keep two things in mind. One, cooking is not my forte. And two, I had very limited materials to work with."

They rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped. Two plates sat on his small round table, each with a pot pie in the middle. A third plate had four pieces of toast. "Chicken pot pie and garlic toast," she said. "Just remember, I warned you."

Brendan chuckled as he walked over and sat down in one of the chairs. "This is great, actually. Thanks."

"What do you want to drink?" she asked, getting two glasses out of the cabinet.

"I'll have some OJ if there's any left."

Freya poured the last of the juice in one glass and water in the other, then brought them over to the table. "Here you go." She settled into her chair and began cutting up her pot pie while watching Brendan stab around at his. He finally put a small bite in his mouth and chewed carefully.

After swallowing, he took a drink and then noticed Freya looking at him. "What? I'm eating."

"I know, I was just . . . " She quickly looked down at her plate.

"Freya?" he drawled. "What is it?"

When she looked back up at him, her eyes were moist with tears. "I was just thinking . . . about what you showed me earlier. If you had seen that bomb a few seconds later, you'd be dead right now. I was thinking of what it would have been like to sit in that car and watch the house blow up, knowing you were inside."

"But it didn't. We saw the bomb and we got out in time. We may look a little worse for wear, but we're okay." He could see how scared she was and he wanted to comfort her, but he wasn't sure what to do.

"I know. I know you're all right. I'm sorry, this is silly, I just . . . I guess it just suddenly hit me how close you really came to dying." She wiped her eyes and gave him a sheepish smile. "It's okay. Think I've pulled myself together again."

He watched her for a minute, touched by her concern. It had been a long time since he'd really had anyone to worry about him. His father worried, he knew, but it was from afar. This was different. This was someone he saw every day, noticing how much weight he'd lost and when he had a headache. Someone who dropped by in the evening to make sure he had everything he needed when he was sick. Someone who drove him home when he almost got himself blown up. He smiled at her. _Have I told you lately how much you're nagging and hovering means to me?_

Freya stared at him with an expression caught part way between confusion and annoyance. "I'm not really sure how to take that."

"In a good way," he assured her. "I just mean . . . thanks for always being here when I need you . . . and for worrying of course."

"Of course," she said playfully, her features finally relaxing as her smile returned. She didn't say anything for several minutes and they ate in relative silence. When she reached over to get a second piece of toast, she felt his discomfort and looked up to see him trying to stifle his gag reflex.

"Brendan, are you all right?"

His fork froze in place and he looked up at her. The expression "deer in the headlights" came to mind as a good description of the look on his face. "Why?"

"Because you look kind of green and you've been doing more poking than eating. You're still having trouble with your stomach, aren't you?" She knew he still hadn't really looked like he felt well.

Putting his fork down, Brendan leaned back in his chair and looked at her. "Not like I was. I just don't get very hungry and sometimes stuff doesn't settle right. I think it's nerves," he said as set his hand on his stomach.

"You have had a rough few weeks," Freya admitted. She looked at him a moment and then leaned forward across the table, her eyes meeting his. "Are you all right? I don't just mean your stomach. I mean are you _really_ all right?"

Straightening in his chair, Brendan hesitated a moment and then placed his hand carefully on hers. "Look, I feel like crap right now. My head aches and my knees sting and I think I've wrenched almost every muscle in my back. I still have random thoughts about my mom and I still wake up in a cold sweat sometimes remembering what she did to me. But the aches and pains will fade away with some Tylenol and a few days time. And all the pain stirred up by losing my mom will gradually fade away as well, although it may take a little longer. But all of it will get better, so yes, I'm okay. Besides, I have this really good friend who watches out for me and never lets me forget that I'm not alone."

Freya's worried frown gradually gave way to a small smile. "You're not, you know."

"I know," he said firmly. "And just remember that neither are you."

oOo

Freya arrived at the office at seven thirty the next morning with several muffins and pastries, knowing they'd be working their way through another mass of files. She wanted to be prepared with some sugar to go with their caffeine for the day. She wasn't surprised to find Brendan already hard at work, but she was a little surprised to see the huge pile he'd already been through.

"Hey, I have fat and sugar in the form of pastries and some muffins. Knowing you, I'll bet you haven't eaten. Exactly how long have you been here?" she asked. An image of the clock on the wall reading four thirty popped in his head. "Brendan!"

Brendan sighed and chewed his lip a second. "I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep."

"Were you sick?" she asked.

"No," he said. He was hiding something, blocking his thoughts. She didn't think he would out and out lie to her, but there was something wrong.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing you need to know," he said cryptically. "Did you say you had muffins? I'm kind of hungry."

Well, that was the best news she'd had in a while. She picked up the smaller of the two boxes she had and set it in front of him. "I have cranberry, blueberry, and lemon poppy seed," she reported.

"Oh, cranberry, that sounds good."

She almost laughed at the childlike expression on his face as he spied the cranberry muffin and picked it up. It was a little scary that it made her so happy for him to be interested in eating, but he was so painfully thin. This morning he reminded her of a refugee from a war zone, thin, pale, bruised and battered, with dark circles showing the lack of good sleep.

"This is great," he said after taking a small bite from the muffin. She grabbed one of the pastries for herself and pushed one of the two coffees she'd brought towards him.

"Glad you like it." She resisted the urge to tell him he needed to put on weight. He was already painfully aware of that and a little intimidated by others noticing it, so she was trying to activate the filter between her thoughts and her mouth. Sometimes it wasn't easy. "Have you found anything yet?"

"Nope, not yet," he said, grabbing a handful of folders and pushing them across the desk at her.

"Hey," she said defensively. "I haven't had enough coffee for this yet. And I brought breakfast."

"And I thank you very much," he said, dipping his head forward before pointing to the folders. _Now get your skinny little butt to work on those files._

Grimacing, Freya grabbed the top file and stuck her tongue out at Brendan. "Pot . . . kettle . . . ring any bells?"

He stopped chewing to narrow his eyes at her, trying his best to look threatening. It made her sad how sick he looked and how hard he was working to hide whatever was really going on in his head. "All right, I'm working, I'm working," she said to appease him. She flipped open the file and tried hard to concentrate. The sooner they found that gun, the sooner she stood a chance of getting Brendan to slow down and let himself get well.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Inside Out - Chapter 4**

Four days later, they were still sifting through boxes of files, some for the second time. Freya had barely convinced Brendan to take off a few hours over the weekend, in spite of the fact he was still sore from being thrown around in the explosion. She was convinced that her eyesight was failing due to strain, but she was loathe to say anything to her partner. Her worry for him had increased three fold in the past couple of days. She was certain that the weight was peeling off him in layers on a daily basis. He seemed to be more pale and frail looking every time she saw him. He was quiet and the only time she seemed able to read his thoughts were when they were racing a mile a minute, correlating the information he'd been over in an effort to find one smoking gun. He ate little and she wasn't even sure if it was staying down. If the case didn't end soon, Brendan would end up in the hospital.

Harper walked by with a cup of coffee, stopped, and backed up a few steps to stand in front of Brendan's desk. "Agent Dean?"

Brendan's head snapped up and he jumped to his feet, almost knocking his chair over in the process. Freya could feel the instant panic that filled him. "Yes, sir? We haven't found it yet, but I know there's something in here. We'll get it sir, we just need a little more time."

Harper stood looking at Brendan for a moment, his eyebrows slowly rising as Brendan babbled on. "Oh, okay. I was actually just going to ask if you wanted to go home. You look like you're dead on your feet." _Or at least you will be soon if you don't get some rest. I wonder how many hours he's put in combing through every word in those files._

Brendan shook his head and Freya was instantly aware of the pain and dizziness that stirred up. The intensity must have caught him off guard, because he'd been blocking that kind of thing the past few days. "No sir, I'm fine. We're bound to come across something soon."

Harper studied Brendan for what seemed like an eternity, even to Freya. She wasn't sure what to hope for as the director mentally argued with himself about whether to order his top agent to go home or not. In the end, the desperate need to end the case won out. "All right, Dean, but take it easy on yourself. You can't help the investigation if you drive yourself into the ground before we're done."

"Yes sir," Brendan responded crisply. For a moment, Freya almost expected him to salute. She shook her head when Harper finally moved on and Brendan collapsed into his chair, his panicked thoughts more scrambled and chaotic than she had ever heard. "What?" he asked sharply, scowling at her.

"Jeez, Brendan, you have to relax. He's not kidding, you're driving yourself into the ground. Have you _looked _in a mirror lately?"

Sighing, the pale agent ran one hand through his already irreverently scrambled hair. "I'm fine." Wincing at her glare, he chewed his lip a second. "Well, maybe not fine, but . . . look, this case takes precedence over everything else. I can hold things together until we get through this and find that gun."

Feeling her anger rise, Freya tried her best to keep her emotions under control. "Brendan, this is fast becoming an obsession . . . no, wait, we're already there. You can't seem to eat or sleep for working on this case. You've lost several pounds and you walk around like a zombie. No case is so important as to ignore your health like this."

The shocked look on her partner's face almost made her feel guilty for her outburst. Brendan sat speechless for a few moments before finally clearing his throat. "I haven't . . . it's not an obsession, I just . . . " He finally just leaned forward and rubbed his head, his eyes closed. The wall came down and she saw the struggle of the last few days through his eyes, and that only worried her more, because it included him vomiting almost every time he tried to eat.

"Brendan," she breathed out.

He held up one hand and shook his head. "Don't start . . . just, don't start. I'm finishing this case. The case is not the problem."

"You need to see a doctor, Brendan, this is not just the stomach flu or some little something. This has been going on too long. It could be something really serious." And that's when she realized that he was pretty sure it was something serious and that was why he needed to close the case first. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to once he saw a doctor. "Oh, Brendan," she said softly.

Hazel eyes finally came up to meet Freya's, the determination in them blatantly obvious. _I'm finishing this case, Freya. Greyson is going down for killing Bryce, and I'm not stopping until he does. Now you can help me or you can just keep out of my way._

She wasn't offended. She knew he was sick and totally consumed with making sure Bryce Porter's death didn't go unpunished. "Brendan . . . I'll help . . . but only if you'll see a doctor the minute we find that gun."

The flinch was painfully visible. She knew how Brendan felt about doctors and hospitals and she also knew he was expecting that whatever was wrong with him would probably put him in their care for a lot longer than he was comfortable with. Other fears were there as well, lurking well beneath the surface. "All right," he said, his voice barely audible.

Staring at him for a moment, she took a deep breath and tried to still the cold fear in her gut. "Hand me some files." He was unable to hide the trembling in his hand when he gave her a small stack of files from the box beside his desk.

By two in the afternoon, Freya had stopped reading the file in her lap as she tried to think of a way to get Brendan to go home for the day. His color was more gray than anything and he periodically almost doubled over in pain. He'd made several trips to the restroom and he always seemed to hobble the first few steps like an old man with arthritis. She had just decided that a talk with Harper was in order, whether it infuriated her partner or not, when Brendan audibly sucked in a quick breath.

"This is it," he whispered, and then moved his lips silently as he read. A small smile crept across his face as he looked up at her. "This is what I've been missing, the clue we needed."

"What?" asked Freya almost breathlessly. She wanted him to tell her quickly. She wanted . . . no, she needed to find the gun so that Brendan would allow her to get him medical attention.

"Listen to what he told an investigator two years ago during questioning. _My grandmother didn't raise me like that. _He was raised by his grandmother. Didn't you say the floor you saw looked old . . . like maybe in a grandmother's old house?"

Her eyes going wide, Freya felt her heart rate suddenly increase. "Does it give her name?" For the first time in a while, she felt hope.

"No, but it shouldn't be that hard to track down. Terri can help with that," he said, standing up and taking a step. Almost immediately, he swayed and went to his knees with a thud and a grunt. The file he had been holding hit the floor as well, papers sliding out and skidding across the floor.

"Brendan," Freya called, moving quickly to kneel by his side. He made a strangled gagging sound, his jaws clenched together. That, combined with the panicked plea in his thoughts urged her to action. Grabbing the small garbage can beside the desk, she thrust it in front of her partner. Brendan clutched the sides of the can as he vomited into the plastic lined container. Dry heaves wracked his body long after his stomach was empty.

By the time Brendan let Freya take the trash can away from him, he was shaking. Taking hold of his arm, she began trying to maneuver him into his chair. "Come on, let's get you off the floor." She found herself supporting a scary amount of his weight as she helped him move from the floor to the chair. Terri appeared and handed Brendan a damp cloth as Freya tried to catch her breath.

"Brendan, honey, you need to go home," Terri cooed as the agent pressed the cool rag against his face.

Dropping his hand, Brendan looked up at the two women. "I have a new lead. Greyson was raised by his grandmother. We need a name and address. I'm pretty sure this is the break we've needed."

Taking the rag, Terri nodded. "Fine, I'll get on it right away, but only if you let Freya take you home."

"I'm not going home," Brendan insisted, getting quickly to his feet. "I'm going to help search for . . . " Obviously dizzy, he staggered against his desk and only made it back to his seat because Terri and Freya each took an arm and guided him there.

"Agent Dean, this has gone on long enough." All eyes turned to Jon Harper, standing on the other side of the desk with his arms crossed and his expression stern. "This is my fault, really. I should have sent you home days ago. Freya, I want you to drive him to the hospital and he's not to leave until he's seen a doctor."

"No . . . sir, we've got a new lead finally. I'm fine sir, really. Just a little stomach bug." The desperation in Brendan's voice was kind of pitiful.

Harper's expression only hardened. "No, Brendan, we can follow the lead. We'll keep you in the loop, but you're seeing a doctor." The director moved close enough to grip Brendan's shoulder. "Brendan, you're a good agent. You're smart, you work hard, and you're as dedicated as anyone could ever ask. But there's a time when you have to let go and allow us to help you. That time has come. I know . . . look, I know the hospital thing is hard for you, but something's wrong. I've never known you to run from anything, Agent Dean. Don't start now."

Rolling his upper lip under, Brendan chewed on it a moment before looking back up at Harper. "You'll keep me in the loop?"

Relaxing a bit, Harper nodded with a small smile. "I promise."

Brendan almost seemed to deflate, his shoulders sagging and his head dipping forward. "Okay," he said softly.

"Get better," Harper said with a final squeeze of his best agent's shoulder. "Call me," he said to Freya before heading back to his office.

Freya watched Brendan try to regain his composure. His mind was a jumble of scattered thoughts and images, a combination of his childhood horrors and his recent adult ones. He looked up at her, the pain in his hazel eyes tugging ferociously at her heartstrings. _Guess maybe I'm a lot more messed up than I thought._

Smiling her best version of a brave smile, Freya took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You'll be okay. I'll make sure of it."

The trust in his expression almost made her cry. "I know you will. Let's do this."

Freya and Terri gripped Brendan's arms as he stood, keeping him steady when the inevitable wave of dizziness hit. After a few seconds, he steadied himself and gently pulled from their grasp. "I got it now."

"Do what she says, Brendan," said Terri firmly. "I'll call as soon as I have anything on the grandmother. We'll keep on it until we have her name, address, social security number, and how many times a day she goes to the bathroom."

The smile that spread across Brendan's face made Freya and Terri both grin. "Somehow I don't think we need that much information. Name and address should work fine, but thanks for the sentiment."

"I'll call after we talk to a doctor," said Freya as they began moving toward the elevator. Terri waved to them as the doors closed, blocking their view of the worried looks of Kunzel and Harper standing on the far side of the room.

Freya tried to block the mental flashes of hospitals, doctors, and illness that plagued Brendan's mind on the ride down to the first floor. By the time they stepped into the large lobby, his hairline was damp with sweat and he looked even more pale than before.

"I'm okay," he said softly, as if reading her mind for once. They stepped outside, pausing while they figured out which direction they needed to head.

"I'm parked in the lot across the street," Freya said, pointing to the mass of cars angled to the right and across the five lanes in front of them. They took a couple of steps toward the crosswalk when the distinct sound of several shots filled the air. Brendan immediately pushed Freya down behind the car they were closest to. Frantic screaming joined the sounds of breaking glass as people ducked into buildings and behind cars. By the time she realized Brendan was crouched over her, the gunfire had stopped and the screams had turned to sobs.

Brendan pulled away and she looked around to see him peering over the top of the car, scanning the buildings around them. "Rooftop with a rifle," he said. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Do you know which one?"

"I'm not sure," he said, squinting into the bright afternoon light. "But I'm guessing over there," he said, pointing to the building crossways across the intersection from them. It was several stories high, but not as high as the ones around it.

"Freya, Dean, are you two alright?" asked Harper as he rushed out the door with Kunzel one step behind.

Brendan whirled around to face them. "We're okay. They were using a rifle from one of the buildings across the street. I think maybe the roof of the Tanner Building."

"I'm on it," said Kunzel, running across the street with one hand held up to stop traffic and one hand pulling out his cell phone. Several other agents, as well as some arriving police, began fanning out around the suspected building.

"Brendan," said Freya softly. "You're bleeding."

Her partner looked at her, confused. She guided his eyes down to his left side with hers, where a red stain was slowly spreading across his white shirt. "Huh," he breathed out as he lifted his jacket away to reveal a large amount of blood soaked into the left side of his shirt. He pressed his hand to the tear in the shirt and blood welled up from between his fingers about the time he gasped.

Freya and Harper each grabbed an arm as he swayed and his legs began to fold up beneath him. They lowered him to the ground as Harper yelled over his shoulder for someone to call an ambulance.

Freya searched around for something to apply pressure with. _Doesn't really hurt that bad. Maybe that's a good sign. _Freya glanced at her partner's face, pallid in the afternoon light.

"Yeah, maybe. But you're bleeding an awful lot." A guard from the lobby ran out and handed her a small, clean towel, which she pushed against the wound. Brendan grunted.

"Sorry, sorry." She hated hurting him, but she was terrified he would bleed to death right in front of her. The sound of approaching sirens filled her with relief. Someone must have called an ambulance when the shooting began, expecting there to be victims. "Just hang on, Brendan, the ambulance will be here in a minute."

"It's okay . . . don't think I'm really hurt that bad," he said. From his thoughts, she knew that was what he honestly thought, and that gave her a small measure of comfort. But she wasn't relaxing until a doctor, or at least a paramedic told her that. She could hear Harper on his phone, coordinating the search for the shooter.

Relief filled her when the ambulance pulled up to the curb and two paramedics jumped out, grabbing their equipment and rushing over to where she knelt. She was vaguely aware of a second emergency vehicle pulling up beside the first.

"We've got it, ma'am," said one of them curtly as he nudged her aside. Freya scooted back and stood up behind the men, watching them as they began assessing her partner. Harper picked that moment to come question her about what had happened while simultaneously fielding incoming reports in an obvious attempt to distract her. She was only superficially aware of his questions and her responses, most of her attention on the medics moving Brendan to the back of the ambulance. She almost bolted until she realized they weren't leaving yet, just seeking a more private place to finish assessing their patient.

"Have you heard a word I've said?"

Startled, Freya looked back at Harper. She expected his expression to be one of anger, but it spoke of compassion instead. "Sort of," she admitted honestly.

Sighing, Harper gave a short nod. "It's all right, I understand. Partners are, well, they're family."

Nodding in relief, Freya let out a breath. "Thank you, sir. Yes, they are family." She looked around to see one of the medics climb out of the back of the ambulance and approach them.

"How is he?" asked Harper.

"A lot better than he could be," the paramedic said. "The bullet grazed his side pretty deeply, but the ribs did a good job of deflecting it. He'll need some stitches and I suspect he may have one or two cracked ribs, but it could have been a lot worse. The bleeding wasn't nearly as bad as it appeared." The medic hesitated a second, looking seriously from Harper to Freya. "Has he been ill lately?"

"Yes," Freya answered. "We were actually on the way to the hospital when this happened."

Looking relieved, the man nodded. "He's seriously dehydrated and possibly malnourished. He's definitely underweight and his pressure's awfully low. To be honest, I'm a lot more worried about that than the gunshot wound."

Harper's expression hardened a little as he glanced at Brendan, sitting on the gurney in the back of the ambulance while the other paramedic wrapped a bandage around his midsection. The effort of sitting up seemed to be draining what little energy the agent had left. "Are you taking him to the hospital?"

"That's the thing," the medic explained. "He doesn't want to go. Says he's needed here."

Harper sighed and shook his head. "He'll be going with you. Just give me a minute." Striding over to the back of the emergency vehicle, Harper watched as Brendan looked up at him. "Dean, we can handle this. You are going with these gentlemen to the hospital. As soon as we get this circus cleared up, I'll come down and fill you in."

"Sir, it's just a scratch. I could –"

"Dean. The discussion is over. You _are_ going to the hospital."

Sagging a bit, Brendan gave a small nod. "Yes, sir."

"Can I ride with him?" Freya asked, looking at the paramedic she had walked to the ambulance with.

"Are you family?"

Harper sighed and nodded back towards Brendan. "She's as close as he's got right now and your best chance of keeping him calm is with her there."

The medic glanced at her and then shrugged his shoulders. "Hop up and we'll get out of here."

Freya stepped up into the back of the vehicle as the man inside eased Brendan back so he could lie down on the gurney. The doors closed behind her as she took a seat beside the medic and reached out to grasp Brendan's hand. He gripped her hand, scowling as he looked up at her.

_I could have helped. Even the paramedic said it wasn't much more than a deep scratch._

Giving a wary, sideways glance at the man next to her, Freya tried to word her answer carefully. "This is for the best, Brendan. You know we were already on our way to the hospital. This hasn't changed any of that. I'm just glad the shooter didn't do any more damage than he did." The realization of how close Brendan had come to being killed finally hit Freya. "Do you think it was Greyson?" she asked.

"Probably. I'm a little surprised it took this long for him to get anything going." His eyes suddenly widened and he sat partially up before gasping and falling back against the pillow.

"Agent Dean, you really need to lie still," the medic advised as he pulled materials from a compartment. "The doctor said we need to start an IV."

"Was anyone else hurt?" Brendan asked, his eyes going to Freya.

Shaking her head. Freya squeezed his hand again before releasing it so the medic could start the IV. "A couple of people had some minor cuts from breaking glass, but there were no serious injuries. You're the only one headed to the hospital."

Brendan relaxed back into the gurney. "Okay . . . that's good." He winced a little as the paramedic slid the needle into the vein in the back of his hand. A few seconds later, Brendan moaned and began trying to sit up again, his thoughts frantic.

The paramedic had enough experience that he didn't need to be telepathic. The two of them pulled Brendan into a sitting position and the medic shoved an empty container under his chin as he began heaving. A few dribbles of mucus and bile later, Brendan was reduced to dry heaving, gasping for breath between episodes. By the time he was done, Freya half expected his lips to be blue from lack of oxygen. He slumped sideways, his eyes closed, forcing the medic to support him as he eased the agent back down to the gurney.

"Brendan, are you okay?" she asked. "Brendan?" Her mental search was met with silence.

The medic was checking Brendan's pulse and then pumping up the blood pressure cuff. The next thing she knew, he was affixing an oxygen mask over Brendan's face and checking his pressure again as he talked to a doctor on the radio, relaying numbers and terms she didn't understand. Freya couldn't help but wish that the ambulance could move a little faster.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Inside Out - Chapter 5**

Clutching her purse closely to her chest, Freya took a deep breath and glanced around the hospital waiting room. She concentrated on blocking out the frantic voices, one by one. Her concern for Brendan, combined with the adrenalin let down and recent lack of sleep had left her tired and unprepared for the mental assault of all these minds. Slowly she pushed them out of her head.

Time had apparently come to a standstill, because she was pretty sure she'd been sitting in this foul-smelling, hot, crowded room for at least two forevers. Rubbing her forehead with her fingers, she realized she was getting a wall-banger of a headache. Reaching into her purse for her stash of pain reliever, she grabbed her cell phone instead when it began to ring. She recognized the number immediately.

"Hello, Director Harper."

"_Freya, I'm on my way down there right now. I should be there in about fifteen minutes. Do you know anything yet?"_

"No, they wouldn't let me go back with him and I haven't talked with anyone since we got here, other than to fill out some paperwork. How's it going on your end?"

"_We picked up a suspect fleeing the Tanner building and we're pretty sure it's the right guy. He ditched the gun, but Kunzel thinks they can find it. They're taking him in for questioning right now."_

"Thank goodness. Brendan didn't look so hot by the time we got here."

"_He'll be all right. Brendan has a way of coming out on top. How about you? How are you holding up?"_

"I'll be better when I can talk to a doctor," she said with a sigh.

"_I know what you mean. Just hang in there."_

"I will, don't worry. I'll see you in a few minutes. I'll be the woman frantically chewing her purse strap."

Harper laughed and that somehow made her feel better. _"Just don't chew on the furniture."_

Closing her phone, Freya pulled out the bottle of Tylenol and shook two out into her hand. A quick trip to the water fountain and she had managed to kill a few minutes. She paced around the hallway, trying to see into the room where they had taken Brendan. A nurse went in, but Freya couldn't see anything beyond the door facing. Sighing, she walked back to her seat in the waiting room and resumed doing what everyone else was doing – waiting.

"Freya?"

Looking up into the worried face of Jon Harper, Freya was almost overwhelmed with the emotions that suddenly flooded her. Biting her lip, she took a calming breath before trying to speak while watching Harper take the seat next to her. "I . . . I still don't know anything."

"That's okay," said Harper. "Mind if I sit with you while we wait?"

"No, sir. I think I'd appreciate that." And she did. There wasn't much that was worse than sitting around waiting by yourself. They made sporadic conversation for the next half hour, until a doctor finally headed their way.

"I'm Dr. Westfield. I understand you are waiting for word about Brendan Dean," said the doctor in his mid forties, with dark hair that was starting to gray at the temples. He was slightly taller than Freya and of medium build.

"Yes," she said as she quickly stood, aware of John Harper doing the same. "I'm his partner and friend, Freya McAllister."

"I'm Jon Harper, his boss. We've been very worried about Agent Dean, doctor."

The physician gave them both a nod. "I believe the paramedic told you that the gunshot wound was not serious." At their nod, he continued. "We've put a few stitches in to close the wound and X-rays indicate he cracked one of his ribs, but it's nothing serious. He'll be sore for a few days. Frankly, I'm more concerned about his illness. Can you tell me how long this has been going on and what his symptoms have been?"

Freya nodded. "He's been sick off and on for about seven, maybe eight days. I know he's vomited a lot, no appetite, headaches. He's been kind of creeping around like his joints were bothering him the last couple of days. I don't think he's ever run a fever. He really seems to be losing weight lately, tired, achy . . . just hasn't felt well."

The doctor nodded, making a few notes as he went. "We've sent off some blood for testing, but we've already determined that he's anemic and dehydrated. I think I'll get some abdominal scans, along with a few other tests, see if we can figure out what's going on."

"Any idea of what's making him so sick?" asked Freya.

_I hate those kinds of questions this early into a case. _"I'm afraid not, Miss McAllister. At this point, there are several possibilities. We've got him stabilized for the moment and we'll be moving him to a room shortly. You can sit with him in the meantime, if you want. Just try to keep him calm. He doesn't need anything getting him worked up right now. We have him on oxygen because the intense vomiting caused some of his muscles to cramp up and he was having trouble catching his breath. The gunshot wound didn't' help the situation any. This takes some of the effort out of it until his muscles loosen back up."

"Thank you doctor," said Harper as they began following him back to Brendan's room.

They entered the room to find one nurse easing Brendan back against the pillows while another carried away an emesis basin. Apparently Brendan wasn't getting a reprieve from the nausea and vomiting. The nurse adjusted the nasal cannula while the second one dampened a rag in the sink and then wiped the agent's face. His eyes were closed, his face drawn and pale. _Oh, God, please, make it stop. _His mind displayed in graphic detail a five-year old Brendan, his mother's arm around his shoulders as he sat in the hospital bed, puking into a dish. She felt a shudder of guilt mixed with fear race through him.

Wincing at his misery, Freya took up the spot vacated as the nurse returned the rag to the sink. Clasping his hand in hers, she gave it a gentle squeeze. "Hang in there, Brendan," she said softly. "This is not your fault."

Eyelids fluttered to reveal hazel eyes that were so dark as to almost be brown. He looked at her a moment and then his eyes shifted up toward where Harper had come to a stop, just behind her left shoulder. "Hey," he said, his voice coarse and barely above a whisper.

"Dean, how are you holding up?" asked Harper.

"I'm 'kay, sir. Anything . . . on Greyson's grandmother yet?"

"Nothing definite yet, but Merriweather has a couple of possibilities she's checking on. I'll let you know when we have something more solid to go on. Kunzel has a man in custody for the shooting and they should be questioning him right now. I'll let you know about that as soon as we know anything as well. In the meantime, I expect you to relax and let the doctors do their thing. I need you back, Dean, so take care of yourself."

Freya smiled at the flush of relief that ran through Brendan. Silly man would always worry about how well he was doing his job and how his work was perceived. She could feel the guilt at being sick radiate off him in fearful waves. "I second that motion, Brendan," she added.

Dr. Westfield stepped up to the bed and Freya backed up to allow him access to Brendan. "Excuse me just a moment. I want to check the dressing," he explained. She watched as he pulled the hospital gown up just enough to reveal the bandage on the agent's side. _Bandage is still secure, no sign of bleeding. Looks like the vomiting spell didn't tear any stitches loose. _Putting the gown back in place, the doctor then pulled the sheet back over Brendan's torso. "Everything seems fine, Agent Dean. I'll see if we can get you something a little stronger for the nausea."

"Thanks," Brendan whispered. The doctor moved across the room to confer with one of the nurses and Freya moved back in beside him.

"I think they're moving you to a room soon," she said.

Brendan gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. _The nurse told me earlier. Guess I'm stuck in here a while._

"They'll figure out what's wrong and then you can get better. You have to be tired of being sick."

_You have no idea._ The bitter thought was punctuated with strong emotions and graphic flashbacks, leading Freya to tighten her grip on his hand once again.

oOo

Rustling sounds and soft voices brought Freya slowly awake, making her uncomfortably aware of a stiff back and neck. She groaned a bit as she stretched and forced the footrest of the easy chair down.

"Good morning, Miss McAllister."

Yawning, Freya looked up into the smiling and annoyingly fresh face of a young nurse. Her short, brown hair bounced as the girl nodded to her. "There's a coffee machine in the waiting room down the hall or the cafeteria on the first floor is open, if you like. The doctor should be in sometime in the next hour to talk to Mr. Dean."

"Oh . . . okay, thanks," she responded dully. The tiny amount of restless sleep combined with the lack of caffeine input left her mind feeling like it was in neutral. She rubbed her tired eyes as the nurse left the room. Remembering Brendan, she suddenly felt guilty for having slept at all and immediately pulled herself to her feet.

He was smiling at her as she approached his bed, trying to stifle yet another yawn. "I hope that silly grin means you're feeling better. I figure it's either that or my hair is a fright."

"Both, actually," he said with a smirk.

"Gee, thanks. I think that's my cue to visit your bathroom facilities so I can check the damage, among other morning tasks."

The sound of his chuckle did more to wake her up than a cup of coffee could ever do. When she caught sight of her hair in the mirror, however, she had to laugh at herself. "Okay, I admit, this is bad," she said through the door. She emerged a few minutes later feeling a little more human, and looking that way too.

"I'm guessing a brush in the purse?" he questioned.

"You better believe it," she said, depositing her purse on the floor beside the chair. "When you have lots of hair, you never leave home without one."

"I'll try to remember that," he quipped.

She stared at him for several minutes. "You look a little better, I think. A little more color in your cheeks, maybe."

"Really?" he questioned. "I thought it was the lack of puking."

Freya laughed and it felt good to be able to. "That helps. You lost the nasal cannula, too," she observed.

"The nurse took it off when she was here. I'm still kind of sore, but my stomach seems to have settled for the moment, so it wasn't such a struggle to breathe. I don't guess you've heard anything from Harper that you haven't told me."

"No, nothing yet. If we haven't heard anything by the time the doctor comes, I'll call."

"That'll work," he replied. "Hey, why don't you go get yourself some coffee and breakfast. I'll be okay by myself for a while."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Agent Dean?" she asked playfully. He grinned a moment, but then his expression sobered.

_Not in a million years. Thanks for staying last night. I was a little freaked out. Actually, more than a little. This is all a little too close to home for me._

Smiling, Freya moved closer to Brendan, reaching over the bedrail to touch his arm. She was truly glad to be a telepath at this moment, because that was a confession Brendan would have never made out loud. "I know. That's one reason why I stayed. I know this is coming awfully close to . . . your losing your mother. If there's anything I can do . . ."

"You're doing it," he said softy, moving his hand to grip hers. "Thanks . . . partner."

"You're very welcome. And I think I'll take you up on the offer for me to go get coffee. I'll make a quick run down to the vending machine and be back in a jiffy."

"Freya, get yourself some real coffee. I'm not going anywhere."

Opening her mouth to protest, Freya was cut off by her cell phone ringing. She briefly held up her index finger and then dug her phone out of her purse. "Hello."

"_Freya, it's Jon Harper. How's Agent Dean doing this morning?"_

"Better actually," she answered and then mouthed "Harper" to Brendan.

"Ask if they found the grandmother," Brendan said as Freya pursed her lips and shook her head while waving one hand at him.

"_That's good to hear. I'm on my way up there to pick you up. We found the grandmother. She's in a nursing home, but the records still show her as owning a house out in one of the suburbs. It's an older home and we're thinking this might be where Greyson hid the gun."_

"You want me to go with you so I can help you find the hiding place." She almost laughed when Brendan's eyebrows shot up and he mouthed "yes".

"_Exactly. Think Brendan will let you out of his sight long enough?" _Harper asked lightly.

"For this, I know he will. Can you give me an ETA? The doctor should be here soon and I wanted to see what he has to say." Brendan began shaking his head and motioning for her to go, to which she made a shushing motion.

"_I just left the office, so it'll be about thirty to forty-five minutes, depending on traffic and parking. We're still waiting on the search warrant to come through, so no big hurry just yet. Have you had coffee yet?"_

"No, I was just about to hit the vending machine for a cup."

"_I desperately need a really good cup, so I'll run through Starbucks on my way and get us both a cup. If you can wait that long, that is."_

"To that, I say thank you for saving me from vending machine coffee. I'll wait."

Harper chuckled on the other end of the line. _"Understood. I'll meet you up there so I can see Agent Dean a moment before we go. We'll have to make sure he doesn't try to follow us out."_

Freya laughed and nodded, not processing the fact that Harper couldn't see her. "Good idea, sir. We'll see you in a little while and I'll pass on the information to Brendan." When she shut her phone, she almost laughed again at Brendan's expression.

"Well? They found her, didn't they? This is it! I know this is it. Do you need to leave? Is Harper picking you up downstairs?"

"Brendan, calm down before I call the doctor in here," she said, walking over to stand beside the agent before repeating the conversation back to him. When she finished, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "We're going to get Greyson, once and for all. And now he won't have any excuse to have you killed because it won't change anything."

Brendan relaxed a little back into the pillows. _I'm just so glad this is finally almost over._

They both startled a little as the doctor entered and walked over to join them, Brendan's chart in his hand. "Good morning, Agent Dean, Miss McAllister. I understand things are looking a little better this morning."

"Better by the minute," said Brendan with a smile.

Dr. Westfield nodded as he set the chart down on the nightstand. "Okay, let me just have a look at you."

Freya stepped back and moved to the other side of the room to give the doctor a chance to check her partner. She looked out the window, but kept an eye on things in her peripheral vision, eavesdropping on the questions the doctor asked to make sure Brendan was truthful. She smiled and nodded to herself when he was.

"Okay, Miss McAllister, we're done," said the physician and then waited until Freya had rejoined them.

"This is what we know so far, Agent Dean. Your bloodwork shows no sign of viral or bacterial infection. There has been no sign of fever, either here or reported by you during the period you've been ill. From what I can tell, the nausea and vomiting comes and goes, with no discernable cycle. You've reported headaches almost from the beginning and some joint stiffness just in the last few days. I also noticed a couple of patches of scaly skin, one on your back and another on your right thigh. Have those been there long?"

Brendan shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think so. I hadn't really noticed them until you pointed them out. Guess I've been a little preoccupied lately."

"I guess that means they haven't been causing you any problems?"

"No," answered Brendan. "Like I said, I didn't even notice them."

"Okay," the doctor said, making a note. "Have you noticed any particular food that sets off the nausea, or conversely, any particular food that seems to settle better?"

Frowning, Brendan thought for a moment. "No, not really. When it hits, it hits. Doesn't seem to matter what I've eaten."

Nodding, the doctor made a few more notes before looking up at them. "All right. I'm scheduling a few more tests for this morning and then we'll stop and evaluate again. We'll figure this out, Agent Dean, so I don't want you to worry. I'm afraid we won't be feeding you for a while so we can get some of these tests done, but later today, we may try something light if you feel like it."

"Thanks, Doc."

The physician smiled and gave a small nod. "No problem. Miss McAllister, they'll be coming to get Agent Dean in just a little while, but you're welcome to wait here if you like."

Freya shook her head. "No, I have to leave in a little while. Actually, the timing works out pretty well. You'll probably be done with your tests by the time I get back and I can fill you in," she said to Brendan.

"Do you need anything before I go?" asked the doctor.

"No, I'm fine," said Brendan. They watched as the doctor left and then Brendan looked up at Freya. "Sounds like we both have a busy morning scheduled. I wish I was going with you."

"Me too," Freya sighed.

oOo

Tapping her fingers against her purse, Freya willed the elevator to go faster. It was mid-afternoon and she was anxious to check on Brendan. She had tried to call his room a couple of times, but once there had been no answer and the next time a nurse told her he was sleeping. Not only was she worried about Brendan, but she also wanted to fill him in on the events of the morning.

The doors finally opened and Freya lunged out into the hallway, quickly walking toward Brendan's room. As she rounded the corner, she saw an older woman emerge from one of the rooms farther down, her short silver hair thinning with age. They nodded to one another as they passed and it was only when she went to open the door to her partner's room that she realized the woman had come from here.

Brendan was sitting up in bed, nursing a bowl of soup. A brief tremor raced through him at the memory of his mother pouring a small amount of liquid from the ever present bottle into his soup. "Now it won't taste so bad," she cooed, pushing the bowl toward his tiny form. "Eat it, Brendan," she commanded in a much sterner voice, before softening her expression and stroking the side of his face. Even now, Brendan's stomach wound up in a knot.

Stepping into the room, she felt a surge of emotion when his face lit up at the sight of her. "Hey, you're eating," she said.

"Yes, I am. And I want to know everything," he said.

Freya laughed as she pulled a chair closer to the bed. He looked more alert and less pale than he had in days and she could feel relief flooding her. "All right, be patient and I'll tell you everything. I have lots of good news."

"I like the sound of that," he said.

"Keep eating, though. You need it," she said, indicating his bowl with her hand. With a roll of his eyes, Brendan picked up his spoon and dipped it into the soup. Hesitating a moment as the memory of his mother pouring "medicine" in his soup once again parading through his brain, he finally pushed the image aside and forced down several bites. Freya felt a little guilty for insisting, but she wasn't kidding when she said he needed to get some food into his stomach.

"I'm eating, so you start talking," he commanded.

With a nod, Freya began. "The grandmother's house is about forty-five minutes, maybe an hour from here. We found it, Brendan. As soon as I set foot in the house, I knew it was the right place. And in the same hole as the gun, we found a small box with five CDs, records of Greyson's activities. He apparently felt safe that no one would ever find his little hiding place."

"Realistically, without you, he was probably right. I love having a secret weapon," Brendan said.

"The gun is already down at ballistics and Harper told them to prioritize the results."

Nodding, Brendan set the spoon back in his empty bowl and drank the rest of the water in his cup. "Was it booby trapped? Surely they checked after that last fiasco."

"They did a sweep before they let us in, but it was clean. Like I said, Greyson was pretty confident no one would trace the house to him. Not very smart, considering. And get this, one of the neighbors saw him coming and going the two days after the murder. Turns out a retired couple live just across the street and they were old pals of the grandmother, so they keep an eye on the place. They recognized Greyson as her grandson, so they didn't think anything was wrong."

Brendan took a couple of deep breaths and then looked at Freya. "We got him?"

"Oh, yes, we got him good. No way he gets out of this now. Oh, I almost forgot, Harper said to tell you the shooter finally confessed when they got the goods on Greyson. He hired the guy to kill you."

"I figured," Brendan said before rolling his lip under for a moment. "I'm just glad we have proof, now, beyond my word."

"Me too," Freya said. "Hey, was there someone here just now, an older lady?"

Smiling again, Brenda nodded. "Yeah, that was Mrs. McCracken. Someone told her I was in the hospital and she came to see me. She's sweet."

Freya frowned, trying to process something that just didn't want to connect to her subconscious. "Yeah, that sounds nice. I wish I'd gotten here a minute earlier to I could have met her."

"Me too. Hey, could you move this tray?" he asked with a small frown, pushing the rolling table away from him a few inches.

"Sure," she answered, pushing the small table with the empty dishes back against the wall where it was out of the way. She turned back to Brendan to ask when the doctor would be by next, only to freeze momentarily.

Brendan had closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow, his hand pressed to his stomach. _Oh, please, not again._

"Brendan?" She watched all the color drain from his face and then frantically looked around for an empty dish or basin of some kind. The next thing she knew, Brendan was vomiting the soup back up into his lap. Pressing the call button, she just wrapped her arm around his shoulders and tried to keep him from falling over as wave after wave hit, emptying his stomach and making him shudder with the dry heaves. Nurses swarmed the room, politely shoving her back while they tended to her partner.

She was almost dizzy from the force of his dread and pain, his stomach cramping so badly he could barely breathe. Memories of his childhood flashed through his mind like bolts of lightning, moving quickly but leaving behind an after-burn. She could feel his fear and to her, the room seemed thick with it. But his agonized thoughts were what really tore at her.

_Please . . . I can't do this again. I can't. Make it stop. Mom, please, make it stop._

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Inside Out - Chapter 6**

Freya paced nervously outside Brendan's door. When the doctor had arrived, she had been escorted outside the room and told they would be with her as soon as possible. According to her watch, that had been almost half an hour ago. Since then, one nurse had hurried out followed by two more rushing in with a tray of things that didn't bode well for Brendan's condition.

The sound of the door opening brought her spinning around on her toes. A few seconds later, Brendan's bed was guided out into the hall. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was twisted in pain. An oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose and he lay partially on his side with his knees drawn about halfway up as he clutched his stomach. Staring in shock, Freya finally snapped out of it as the doctor came out of the room and she fell in step beside him. "What's going on? Where are you taking Brendan?"

"Take him on up and I'll be there in a minute," said Dr. Westfield to the nurse beside him before turning back to Freya as they stopped in the hall. "We're moving him to ICU where he can be monitored more closely. His condition has suddenly deteriorated and his blood pressure dropped dangerously low and, unfortunately, I still have no idea what's causing any of this." _I'm not sure if I should tell her I've never seen anything quite like this before._

"So, what happens next? How do we figure out what's wrong with Brendan?"

Sighing, the doctor pursed his lips a second. "Run more tests. We'll start by getting another blood sample, see if anything there has changed. He's still not running a fever. Has he come into contact with any toxins lately? Some kind of insecticide maybe, or any unknown chemicals?"

Brendan's voice suddenly echoed in her head. _I can't do this again. _Her mind played back his memories of his mother making him take his "medicine" or pouring it into his soup. "Doctor . . . could Brendan have been poisoned?"

The physician narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask that?"

She wasn't sure how much Brendan would want her sharing his childhood woes, but she was willing to risk his anger if it helped him get better. "When Brendan was a kid . . . his mother poisoned him and from what he's told me, it was very much like this. It took them a while to figure it out and he was sick for a long time."

Dr. Westfield frowned as he chewed his lower lip for several seconds. "His _mother _poisoned him?" he asked with a long sigh.

"Yes, she was . . . mentally unstable. She was committed after Brendan's father figured out what she was doing. But some of the symptoms are basically the same . . . the vomiting and nausea and weakness. The lack of a fever."

Westfield rubbed his hand along the side of his jaw a moment. _I've never dealt with a poisoning before, but that would explain a lot. I wonder . . . _"Is there some reason you suspect he may have been poisoned? Has he been in contact with his mother lately?"

Shaking her head, Freya began explaining. "No, his mother died a few weeks back. But we've been working on a case where he was the only witness to a murder. We know the murderer is responsible for him getting shot. What if they tried to poison him first and when that didn't get rid of him, they moved on to having him shot?"

Westfield gave a short nod. "Okay, that's plausible. I'm assuming you don't have any idea what type of poison they would have used?"

"No . . . is that bad?" she asked.

"Well, the problem is that I can't treat him until I know what kind of poison was used, if indeed that is the problem. And I need to have an idea what was used so we can test for it."

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Freya crossed her arms. "You have to know what was used in order to test for it?"

"We need to have some idea of what we're looking for or this could take a while." He suddenly brightened, his eyes going wide. "Wait, I know someone who might be able to help us. I've been to some of his seminars on toxins and poisons and he really knows his stuff. If I give him a detailed list of symptoms, he could probably give me a list of possibilities to work from."

Freya nodded. "Good. I think I need to pay our suspect a little visit. Maybe I can get something from him."

"That sounds good. Call me if you get anything. It'll take a while to run the tests and the sooner we start treatment the better," said the physician, his expression and tone serious.

"I will Doctor," said Freya, turning to hurry toward the elevator. As soon as she stepped inside and hit the button for the first floor, she reached for her phone. In the middle of dialing, she froze for a moment and then closed her phone. Barely noticing as the elevator doors slid open, she just stood there as people loaded in around her, snapping to awareness just in time to stop the doors from closing again. Apologizing for holding things up, she quickly exited the small compartment to stand in the hallway. She'd just realized that Brendan was sick even before they'd ever talked to Greyson, meaning that he wouldn't have known to try and kill the agent. Her lead suspect had just been exonerated.

oOo

Freya walked directly from the elevator to Terri Merriweather's desk. The woman looked surprised when she lifted her head to identify the person approaching. "Freya, didn't expect to see you here today. How's Brendan?" _She doesn't look happy. That can't be good._

"Not very well. He got really sick while I was there and they had to move him to ICU. He's getting worse and no one knows why. The doctor and I were talking and . . ." Freya realized Terri probably didn't know about Brendan's childhood poisoning, so she quickly revised her original comment. "Uh, we thought about possible poisoning. He seemed to think that was a viable option, so he's going to contact someone he thinks can help. The problem is, my original suspect was Greyson."

Terri looked at her blankly for a moment before the timing clicked into place. "Didn't he get sick before Greyson threatened him?"

Sighing, Freya nodded. "_That's _the problem. There's no way he even knew Brendan was a threat before all this started. I need another suspect."

Terri's fingers were already skimming her keyboard. "I'll see if I can come up with some more possibilities."

"Thanks. I think I'm going to his apartment to see if I can figure out the how part of this. If it is poisoning, they have to be getting it to him somehow and home seems the most likely place."

Terri nodded as she continued her search. "Call me if you find anything and I'll send the crew out to collect evidence. I'll call you if I find anyone that looks good for this."

Smiling, Freya nodded again. 'Sounds like a plan." She turned and took one step before stopping and turning back to Terri. "One more thing. Would you see if you can find anything on a Mrs. McCracken? She's an older lady that just moved into an apartment on Brendan's floor. I don't know anything else about her but . . . she fed Brendan the night before he first got sick and she was at the hospital right before this last crisis."

Terri paused in her typing to stare at Freya. "You think he was poisoned by some old lady?"

Freya suddenly felt foolish and was aware of the color creeping into her cheeks. "I just think that's a big coincidence."

Nodding, Terri shrugged her shoulders. "And Brendan always says true coincidence is a rare thing when investigating crimes."

Breaking out into a grin, Freya snickered. "Yeah, he does say that."

"I'll check it out first and call you. Now go." And Freya did.

oOo

Brendan surfaced briefly to waves of pain rolling through his gut, making him want to fold up into a tight ball. He tried, but hands pressing him down wouldn't let him. Muffled voices and soft touches added to his disorientation, but he couldn't seem to gather enough concentration or energy to figure out what was going on.

Things calmed briefly, the pain in his head and his stomach still there, but dulled to a bearable level.

"Brendan, it's time for your medicine."

"Wha . . . " He recognized the voice, but somehow knew that it couldn't be. Then he was five again, his frail, exhausted body leaning back against the pillows, his small form dwarfed by the hospital bed. "Mom?" he said softly.

She sat next to him on the side of the bed, the brown bottle with the foul-tasting medicine in her hand. "You need to take your medicine for me so you can get better." He watched her unscrew the lid, dread building inside him as it wound his already cramping stomach into an even tighter knot.

"Mom, I don't want it. It doesn't help and it makes my stomach hurt worse."

Anger flashed briefly across her face before she regained her composure. "No, Brendan, it doesn't. That's the sickness making your stomach hurt. The medicine keeps it from being worse than it already is. I'm your mother Brendan. I love you and I would never hurt you. Now open up."

He fought to be strong, to trust her and do what she said. His mother wouldn't lie to him. Even as the thought entered his mind, the doubt tagged along behind. "Please don't make me," he pleaded, trying to blink away the tears before she saw him crying.

"Brendan, take your medicine _right now_," she said sharply, pushing the bottle towards his mouth while tightening her hold on his arm. When the nasty thick goop hit his lips, he suddenly turned his head away, causing the liquid to spill down the front of his hospital gown. His mother jumped to her feet, her face quickly turning red. "_Brendan!"_

Fear gripped him and he could feel himself trembling. "I'm sorry, mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it spill. I'll clean it –"

"Just shut up Brendan! Look what you've done. You're taking this without any more arguing and then we're getting you cleaned up, do you understand? And not a word about this to anyone. Not a word!" She stood towering over him, taking in loud, panting breaths until her anger finally began to dissolve. Brendan just sat quietly cowering, ashamed at how he had driven his mother to yell at him so loudly. He wanted to apologize again, but she had told him to shut up. His mother never told him to shut up.

She held out the bottle, her hand shaking a little as the last of her fury began to fade. This time when she spoke, her voice was soft and soothing, like his mother's voice was supposed to be. "Please, Brendan. Make me proud of you again. Take your medicine like a good boy."

He took the bottle, his eyes locked on his mother, and then took a small drink of the liquid inside. It was hard to swallow, but the smile that broke out across his mother's face made it worth it. "That's my good boy," she cooed. "Now show mommy how much you love her and take another drink."

Somewhere deep inside, he knew it was the medicine that was making him sick. But this was his mother and his mother loved him and his mother needed him to drink the medicine. So he took a deep breath and swallowed an even bigger mouthful of the nasty stuff.

oOo

Freya left the elevator, glancing at the door she assumed belonged to Mrs. McCracken. She thought briefly about stopping and knocking on it to get a chance to meet the woman, but she was anxious to check out Brendan's apartment. Maybe on her way out. She continued down the hall until she reached Brendan's door. Reaching into her purse for her key, her hand froze. The door wasn't completely closed, sitting barely a quarter of an inch ajar. Her hand moved from the key to her cell phone and she quickly dialed Terri's phone.

"Terri, it's Freya. I think there's someone in Brendan's apartment," she whispered, leaning close to the crack between the door and the frame as she listened.

"_I'll send back-up. You should wait in the lobby."_

"I can't wait in the lobby, they might leave. Just tell them to hurry." She snapped the phone shut so she wouldn't have to hear Terri scolding her. Licking her lips and gathering her courage, she slowly pushed on the door, leaning her head in when the opening was large enough. She thought she heard someone moving around in the kitchen, but she couldn't see far enough into the room to verify it.

Stepping inside, she quietly pushed the door back to its original position and crept toward the kitchen. A loud crash made her jump and she bit her tongue as she squelched a yell. Moving closer, she saw the refrigerator door open with the garbage can partially visible in the open doorway. Someone was hunched over, looking into the appliance, muttering to themselves.

" . . . all of the water bottles. Better throw them all out just in case. He must have already finished off the orange juice. Oh, better get that dish I sent food in, just in case there's some kind of residue." The figure straightened and closed the refrigerator door. It was the woman from the hospital, Mrs. McCracken. She spotted Freya peering around the door. "Who are you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. _I've seen her before._

Freya stepped out where she was visible. "A better question is what are you doing inside Brendan's apartment?" she asked harshly, now fully convinced that this was the person behind Brendan's current misery.

_This must be that slut partner of his. I wonder how much she heard. Doesn't matter, she still doesn't know anything. _The old woman smiled sweetly. "Well, child, I was just cleaning up a bit for Brendan. He's in the hospital, you know."

Feeling the anger rising within her, Freya walked over to stare down in the garbage can. "So, you think that bottled water will go bad and stink up the refrigerator?" Bottled water. Brendan went through those like crazy. She should have guessed.

_She's slick, this one. Francine was right about her._

Freya startled at the thought. Francine. Brendan's aunt? What did she have to do with this? Her patience had run out. "Why did you poison Brendan?"

Now it was the old woman's turn to be startled, or at least to act like it. "Poisoned? Brendan was poisoned? That's terrible . . . but I didn't have anything to do with it," she said innocently.

"Then why are you getting rid of the evidence?"

"No, no, I told you. I'm just cleaning up for Brendan." _Hopefully the last dose I gave that whining brat was enough to finish him off._

Feeling the hair stand up on the back of her neck, Freya resisted the urge to slug the woman in front of her. "Then you won't mind waiting until the authorities get here and we have all this stuff you're throwing away tested. What did you give him?"

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm leaving." _She's not giving up, so I'd better get out of here. If I get rid of the evidence in my apartment, they'll never be able to prove anything._

"No, you aren't going anywhere," Freya said firmly, grabbing the woman's arm when she tried to walk by her. "Why? Why did you do this to him? What did he ever do to you?" She couldn't imagine anything Brendan could have done to make some old woman want to kill him. McCracken had to be whacko. Pulling her arm away so forcefully that she staggered backwards, something about the angry woman seemed to snap.

"Because he's a sniveling brat and he drove his mother crazy!" she yelled.

Freya gasped. "You just met Brendan a couple of weeks ago. What could you possibly know about his mother?" Then it hit her. "You know Francine."

McCracken seemed to deflate, her body sagging until she looked old and very frail. Shuffling to the table, she lowered herself into one of the chairs. "Francine has been my best friend for almost ten years. She told me how he ruined her sister's life, faking illness until he drove his poor mother into a mental institution. Brendan and his father made sure she never got out." Her beady, dark eyes flashed at Freya. "I was at the funeral, but I stayed in the background. I saw the way he played for sympathy, acting like he was ill and all broken up about his mother so everyone would feel sorry for him."

Fisting her hands, Freya resisted the urge to belt the woman a good one. "You don't know anything," she spat. "Brendan lives with the horror of what his mother did to him, trying to understand how someone who supposedly loved him could meticulously poison him day after day. And still, he felt guilty about what happened to her. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Francine is my friend! I did this for her. She's been made to suffer because of Brendan and I decided he needed to be punished."

"What did you give him?" she asked, her voice somehow firm and pleading at the same time. "Please . . . Brendan's a good man and . . . he's my friend. What did you give him?"

The old woman smiled smugly. "I'm not saying anything else. He'll die before you figure it out."

Freya took a step forward just as the room suddenly filled with agents, along with Terri Merriweather. She wasn't sure what she had been planning to do to the woman, she just knew she needed to know what Brendan had been poisoned with.

"Honey, are you okay?" Terri asked, taking her firmly by the arm.

"She did it, she poisoned Brendan," Freya blurted out. "But she won't tell me what she gave him." She watched two agents take McCracken into custody as Kunzel came up to stand beside her and Terri.

"Did she say anything at all?" he asked.

"Just a lot of gibberish that we can talk about later. We need to get into her apartment so we can figure out what she gave him."

"We need a warrant," replied Kunzel.

Anger flashed again, boiling up from the inside. "We don't have time! Brendan's in bad shape, and I think she gave him a pretty big dose this last time. We need to let the doctors know what she gave him and she's not talking." Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to be thinking either.

Kunzel stared at her, his gaze hard and fixed. "And if we search her place without a warrant, nothing we find can be used in her prosecution. She'll get away with it and Brendan could die anyway. Can you live with letting his murderer go?"

Closing her eyes, Freya tried to think. She could almost imagine Brendan haunting her from the grave, telling her she should have waited. But what if waiting was the difference between him living and dying? She looked up at Terri, wanting to ask her advice, but not wanting to share the mantle of guilt with anyone else if she didn't have to. If only Brendan were here to just tell her what to do.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Inside Out - Chapter 7**

"Freya?" Terri placed one hand on Freya's arm. "Are you okay?"

Snapping her eyes open, Freya knew what she wanted to do. "I'm searching her apartment," she said firmly, her commitment complete now that she had made her decision. There was no way she was taking chances with Brendan's life, even if meant McCracken walked.

Kunzel eyed her for a moment as if he might try to talk her out of it, but just nodded in the end with a look of resignation. "Let's go find something useful, then," he said, flashing his hand out toward the door.

Freya took one last look back at the old woman, who was scowling at the agents about to lead her out of the apartment. "He's dead," she said loudly. "He's as good as dead and he deserves it!" Throwing her head back, she laughed loudly, which only made her look even more insane. _Even if they figure one of them out, they won't realize there's two poisons until it's done its work._

Watching the agents lead Mrs. McCracken out, Freya was even more determined to find something to help her partner. Hurrying out the door, she was almost halfway down the hall when her cell phone began to ring. Jerking it out of her purse, she saw the call was from the hospital. "Hello, this is Freya McAllister."

"_Dr. Westfield, Miss McAllister. I wanted you to know that we've identified the poison, thanks to Dr. Bruester's advice, and we're starting treatment. We were testing for a variety of possibilities and we've found both cadmium and antimony in Agent Dean's system."_

Leaning heavily against the wall, Freya felt lightheaded at the news. "Then Brendan will be all right?" she asked hopefully.

The hesitation jacked the fear right back up. "_We have started treatment, but I can't make any promises just yet. His liver and renal functions are both down and we won't know for a while if there's permanent damage or not. But I am hopeful for his recovery. Should we continue looking for other poisons?"_

"No, I just found out a few minutes ago that there were two poisons, so you've found them all. We have a suspect in custody and I think she was putting it in his water and maybe his food or juice. Oh, she visited him just before this last attack and I suspect she gave him a huge dose." She wasn't sure if the old woman would have put it in his water or his soup, but neither would have been difficult.

"I suspected the poison was ingested, so we emptied his stomach first thing, but there wasn't much there after all the vomiting. We're doing everything we can for him."

"I know, doctor. Just . . . take care of him for me . . . for us. I'll be there shortly." She closed the phone and realized that her hand was shaking. Movement pulled her attention away and she looked up to see Terri coming out of Brendan's apartment and toward her and Kunzel.

"What did the doctor say?" asked Kunzel as Terri joined them.

"They figured out what she was using," said Freya with a sigh.

"So, we can wait on the search warrant?" asked Kunzel. She knew he'd been conflicted, the friend wanting to storm the apartment, while the agent yearned to wait for the search warrant. Her initial irritation melted away at the pain in his eyes and hope for Brendan in his thoughts.

"We can wait," she said with a small smile.

"They've started processing the warrant and a forensics team is on its way over to sweep both apartments for evidence," said Terri.

"You've been busy," commented Freya, amazed at the woman's efficiency.

Terri just shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "Hey, it's what I do."

A strong hand on her shoulder surprised Freya and she glanced around at Kunzel smiling sheepishly at her. "You were right, you know . . . about trying to help Brendan. He comes before any case. Look, uh, I'll wait here for the team. You can head back to the hospital."

Letting out a deep breath, Freya nodded. "I think I will. I'm anxious to see how Brendan is doing."

"Want some company?" asked Terri. "I'd like to check in on him myself." _And I think someone needs to keep an eye on you for a while too, kiddo._

"Sure . . . but no comments on my driving," Freya said with a tight smile.

"Deal. Let's go and I'll buy us a cup of good coffee on the way."

Pushing herself away from the wall, Freya joined Terri as they headed for the elevator. "Coffee sounds heavenly right now," she said as she pushed the down button.

oOo

Freya was nervous as they approached the nurse's desk in the ICU. The woman behind the counter had short blonde hair and looked to be in her late twenties. Smiling as she glanced up at them, she folded her hands in front of her. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," replied Freya. "We're looking for Brendan Dean. I believe he was brought up earlier today." Had all this happened in the space of one day? It didn't seem possible.

_Oh, shoot._ The woman glanced to her left, toward a glass-walled room filled with men and women working over someone in a bed. Freya could now hear monitor alarms and see Dr. Westfield calling for drugs as nurses called out numbers and readings she didn't understand.

Freya returned her eyes to the nurse, who now looked somewhat panicked. "Is that Brendan?" she asked breathlessly.

"Oh, Freya," Terri gasped beside her, reaching out to clasp her hand around Freya's wrist.

"I . . . uh . . ." the nurse stammered. _Nice, Kate. Why didn't you just point and tell them their friend is the one presently crashing. No wonder they hate to leave you at the front desk. _"Uh, the doctor is actually in with Mr. Dean right now . . . and . . . well, you should wait for him in the ICU waiting room down the hall," she said pointing in the opposite direction as the room with all the frantic activity. "I'll send the doctor down to talk to you as soon as we know . . . as soon as he's finished."

The two women were now gripping each other's hands as they stared at the movement in the room, looking for some sign that things would be all right. The nurse finally came around the counter and herded them down to the waiting room. The only thing that kept Freya from wanting to punch the woman was the constant run of sympathetic thoughts going through her head.

They sat side by side in chairs, staring at the floor for a while. Terri eventually glanced at Freya. "He'll be fine. Brendan's tougher than he looks or he wouldn't still be here."

Images of Brendan as a child flashed through Freya's mind. Painfully thin and so ill and yet still trying to please his mother. He'd been so afraid to continue taking the medicine and even more afraid of disappointing her. And yet he'd survived. Barely, but he'd survived. He would survive this as well. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the worried woman next to her. "I know. It's just hard not to worry."

A smile spread across Terri's face. "Especially about Brendan. Sometimes I think he really needs a little extra mothering."

"He does," she said simply. She looked up to see Dr. Westfield walking toward them and immediately stood up. "Doctor, how's Brendan?"

"He's stable," the doctor said, a frown deeply etched on his face. "I'm afraid he's taken a bit of a turn for the worse, even though we've started treatment. It's almost . . . it's almost like he's given up," he said sadly.

"He wouldn't do that," insisted Terri. "Tell him, Freya." When Freya didn't immediately answer, Terri's eyes widened. "Freya?"

Frowning deeply, Freya shook her head. "No, of course not, at least not intentionally. But . . . he's tired. Between being sick with the pneumonia so long and then his mother's death, seeing Agent Porter shot and then getting sick again . . . he's exhausted, both mentally and physically."

Sighing, Terri shook her head. "He has been through a lot."

Gripping Terri's hand and smiling, Freya shook off the cloak of doom. "But Brendan's not a quitter and I can't imagine him giving up without a fight. Can we see him, maybe talk to him, let him know we're here for him."

"That's actually a pretty good idea," replied the physician, surprising both women. "I think close contact and support from loved ones can often make the difference in severe illness. I'll take you to his room. Talk to him. Touch him, hold his hand. Let him know he's not alone in this. Illnesses that drag on for a while can often lead to bouts of depression and from his records and what you've told me, he's a prime candidate for that."

"Brendan just needs to know we're there," said Freya confidently.

Smiling, Dr. Westfield nodded and motioned toward the door. "Then let's get the two of you down there so you can start encouraging him." The two women followed him down the hall and into the room where they had previously watched all the action. There was a sharp intake of breath from both women simultaneously.

Brendan was surrounded by monitors and IVs, with wires going under his hospital gown and to the clip on his finger. Nasal cannula aided his breathing, which seemed to be a bit of a struggle at the moment. He was pale, his skin beginning to have a slightly yellowish tint. There was no two ways around it; Brendan looked bad.

Shaking off the shock, Freya stepped forward, moving to her partner's side and carefully taking his hand. "We're here Brendan," she began, slowly at first, but then growing in determination. "Terri and I came to see what all the fuss is about. I hear you've been making scenes and stirring things up. You know if you wanted a little extra attention, all you had to do was ask." She paused a moment to take a few deep breaths and let the urge to cry pass.

"Yeah, Dean, you really know how to keep us hopping," said Terri, walking over to stand on the other side of the bed. She glanced nervously at the IV in his arm and then opted for placing a hand on his upper arm. "Look, kid, the office isn't the same without you up there spilling cough syrup and driving everyone insane. Kunzel hasn't got a clue about who to harass with you gone and he's making the rest of us want to strangle him. And you _know _Freya needs you. She looks kind of like a lost puppy without you."

Snorting lightly, Freya squeezed Brendan's hand even as she admitted to herself that she really was lost without him. She prided herself on her independence, and yet she felt connected to her partner in ways she had never imagined. Funny how you never saw this kind of thing coming until it was too late.

oOo

He was aware of pain before anything else, rolling deep in his gut and cutting through his head. Brendan groaned without even realizing he'd made a sound. He shifted, unconsciously trying to roll to his side so he could curl against the twisting in his stomach, but something tangled and pulled and then hands were pushing him down. Grunting as he pushed against the pressure pinning him in place, he struggled to open his eyes and identify his attacker.

"Brendan, hold still, you're going to pull something loose."

He froze, recognizing the voice before his vision cleared enough for him to see the worried face hovering over him. _Freya?_

"Yes, I'm here. You need to calm down."

Resisting the still-present urge to turn on his side, Brendan took in his surroundings. Monitors seemed to surround him, along with IV tubes and other tubes of the unmentionable kind. Grimacing, he scratched at his nose where the nasal cannula were creating an itch. The effort exhausted him and he had to let his hand drop to his side. His eyes seemed to roll around for a few seconds as he fought the effort of his lids to close.

"Brendan, you still with me?"

Focusing all of his effort, he rolled his head to the side so he could see Freya. "Here," he mumbled weakly. He tried to lick his dry lips, but his mouth was too dry to provide much saliva. Reading his actions as much as his thoughts, Freya slipped him a couple of small ice chips.

"Open sesame. The doctor said you could have a few ice chips, but that's all. You've been pretty sick the last few days." Brendan didn't have to be a mind-reader to hear the worry or the exhaustion in her voice.

_How long have you been here? _Her face was pale, with dark smudges under her eyes and more lines in her face than should be there.

"You've been in the ICU for almost three days. I've been here off and on." She smiled sheepishly, as if embarrassed. "They made me go home a couple of times to catch a few hours of sleep. I . . . I was really worried. But you've been doing better the last few hours and the doctor thinks you'll be okay."

Brendan frowned a bit in confusion. _Does that mean they know what's wrong with me?_

Biting her lip, Freya nodded, her expression sad. "Brendan . . . you were poisoned."

His mind couldn't seem to process what she'd said, almost like it was completely numb. "What . . . what do you mean poisoned?" he rasped, still unable to comprehend that it could have happened again.

The look of pain in Freya's face as she tried to explain what had happened was almost as unbearable as the act itself. "It was Mrs. McCracken, the lady who lived down the hall from you. She'd been using a mixture of . . . uh, let's see, it was . . . cadmium and . . . antimony. I think she got the cadmium off the internet and –"

"Wait . . . Mrs. McCracken?" He couldn't believe it. First his mother and now a sweet old lady down the hall. What was wrong with him? There must be something wrong with him for these people to spend all this time and effort trying to poison him. He closed his eyes to hide from everything, only to find his mother there, shoving a bottle in his face while telling him to take his medicine like a good boy. This couldn't be happening again. A whisper of touch had him reflexively striking out. "No! Leave me alone!"

Hands were grasping his wrists, leading him to struggle and twist against them. Then his mother was holding him down in an effort to make him swallow the medicine, the medicine he now knew was poison. But he was tired of being sick, so he refused and he pushed and bucked with all his might. His confused mind couldn't make sense of all the yelling and shrill alarms and touches, but all of it finally began to fade away as darkness and sweet oblivion slowly slid over him.

oOo

"I rushed him. I shouldn't have said anything yet," said Freya sharply as she paced back and forth across the waiting room. "What's wrong with me? I know him and I know what he's been through. What the heck was I thinking?"

"Probably that Brendan would want the truth and that he'd know immediately if you were lying or trying to sugarcoat it to protect him," offered Kunzel honestly.

"He's right you know," said Harper. "You'd have ended up telling him anyway. If one of us had been there when he woke up, we'd have done the same thing. He _has _been through a lot and it's going to take a while to get him back to being healthy, both physically and mentally. We have to give him that time. And in the meantime, he's still going to be Brendan."

Terri snorted. "The translation of that is that he won't watch out for himself, so we'll have to keep him on the straight and narrow until he's recovered. Otherwise he'll just work himself into the ground again."

Sighing, Freya gave a small nod. Kunzel and Terri now knew the brief version of Brendan's childhood poisoning, thanks to her partner's little freak-out. They had arrived just in time to help her keep him from tearing everything loose while the nurses sedated him. He'd yelled, "No more medicine," a couple of times, along with begging his mother to please stop. After much cajoling, she finally relented, giving them a short description of what had marred Brendan's childhood. They had already known something traumatic had occurred that involved his mother, so they really weren't that surprised. She still felt traitorous, giving up his secret, even if it was to friends who were worried about him.

Freya resumed her pacing, unable to sit still as she continued to question what she had told her partner. She couldn't shake the feeling that she should have held off telling him the truth, distracted him with the doctor's increasingly encouraging prognosis. As her thoughts shifted to the physician, he answered her silent wish with his presence. Four bodies swarmed the man in concerned unison.

"He's okay," the doctor said with a small smile, anticipating the coming question. "He's a bit disoriented still, both from the toll this has taken on his systems as well as the drugs we're giving him for the pain. The pain and confusion joined together to panic him and it just overwhelmed his body. He's sleeping now."

"Can we go back in?" asked Freya, anxious to see for herself that Brendan was okay.

"Not right now," answered the doctor, sympathy in his expression. "I know you're very concerned, but he's heavily drugged right now and really needs to rest. Although his renal and liver functions are coming up, he's not out of the woods just yet and I don't want any repeats of what just happened."

"But what if he wakes up and he's alone?" asked Freya, the pitch of her voice edging upwards in tandem with her worry.

"That probably won't be for quite a while, Miss McAllister. And he's being heavily monitored right now. To be honest, it's doubtful he'll remember anything that goes on for the next day or two because of the drugs. Your time would be better served getting some rest so you can stay with him when he's more lucid and likely to appreciate your presence."

"I think that's an excellent idea, Freya," agreed Harper.

Glancing around for support, she instead found Terri and Kunzel nodding in agreement with Harper and the doctor. She sighed loudly. "Fine, I'll go home."

"Check back tomorrow," advised Dr. Westfield. "I should be able to tell you more then. And call the unit tonight if you get worried. They can let you know his status so you'll rest easier."

"Okay," Freya said begrudgingly. They left the waiting room and Freya paused in the hallway, looking longingly through the glass wall into Brendan's room. She could see a nurse standing by his bed, checking monitors. He was sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that comforted her. She noticed the nurse touch his arm and then speak to him, as if keeping him company while she worked, and Freya found herself relaxing. The nurse looked up and smiled, giving her nod, as if knowing she needed the reassurance. Freya smiled and waved, trying her best to convey her thanks. When the nurse went back to talking to Brendan, she imagined the woman was telling him that his partner and friend really wanted him to get better.

oOo

"Brendan? Come on partner, wake up and look at me. If I have to talk to myself much more, I'm going to be as dingy as the nurses think I am."

Latching onto the familiar voice, Brendan tried to focus on it enough to draw closer. He felt sluggish and confused, his body ignoring his commands.

"Hey, sleepyhead, I know you're in there. I can hear _something _finally going on in that head of yours." A sharp poke in the shoulder brought sudden clarity to the here and now, his eyes snapping open in response.

"Ow," he growled, begrudging the loss of the warm embrace of unconsciousness. Squinting in the too bright light, he moaned softly at how miserable his body felt and how sharply he'd been reintroduced to his current state. He frowned as he blinked, trying to see where he was and remember what had happened.

"Sorry," said Freya, her hand now taking his. "I've just been missing you." Her face swam into view, looking tired and worried and relieved, all at the same time.

"So'kay," he replied, his voice weak and scratchy. "Happened?"

Freya's eyes widened and she dropped his hand. "Ice. You need some ice," she announced as she fumbled with a pitcher and cup for a few moments. Shuffling stuff around on a tray, she finally breathed out a relieved, "Ah," and produced a white plastic spoon. Scooping up a few tiny pieces of ice, she brought the spoon to his lips.

The sudden wet coolness touching his lips initiated the immediate opening of his mouth so they could slide in. Brendan didn't care that he groaned in delight, because that netted him a few more tiny pieces of heaven. "That's enough. The doctor said not too much at one time."

_Mouth's so dry._

"I know, but you've been out of it quite a while. You . . . you gave us quite a scare." Her voice was so quiet and nervous that Brendan looked up at her.

"What happened?" he croaked, feeling the need to verbalize the question. His memories were disjointed and scrambled. He'd already figured out he was in a hospital room, but he wasn't sure why. There were flashes that placed him here, but they didn't tie together in a cohesive form that explained what was going on.

Freya hesitated, looking a little torn, before flashing him and smile and patting his arm. "We can talk about that later. Right now you just need to concentrate on getting better."

She was hiding something and that made Brendan nervous. Observing how tense her body was, along with the lines around her eyes, he knew he needed to get to the bottom of whatever had happened. "Freya . . . need to know what's going on. I can't . . . can't remember what happened. Why am I here?"

Her expression tightened and she shook her head. "I'll explain later. You need to get stronger."

Frustration built and Brendan wished he could be the mind reader for a while. There was something about the look on her face. "What did I do?"

The door burst open and startled them both. A nurse, oblivious to their reflexive jump, bustled through the door, grinning when she saw Brendan was awake. "Mr. Dean, you look like you might actually be awake this time," she said as she used the bed controls to adjust him to a slightly more upright position. She turned to Freya. "Has he been awake long?"

"No, just a few minutes, but he seems to be lucid this time," she answered.

"Lucid?" Brendan repeated dumbly.

The nurse took his pulse and then began wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. "Yes, you've been out of ICU over twenty-four hours now, but this is the first time you've been really awake. So far all we've seen you do is roll your eyes around a couple of times and mumble things that made no sense." She listened for a moment before deflating the cuff and removing the stethoscope. "Pressure's looking a little better," she said kindly. "We'll get you back on your feet, don't you worry," she said, patting his hand lightly. He watched as she checked his IV and then went to the foot of the bed to check on a bag he didn't want to think about. Looking away from Freya, he felt his face get warm.

"Uh, I don't suppose . . . "

The nurse was back at his side, shaking her head sadly. "No, not yet. We're still monitoring renal functions pretty closely. You're kidneys weren't working too well there for a while and the doctor wants to make sure there's no permanent damage."

Brendan gave a small nod, suddenly wanting the nurse to leave and this particular conversation to be over. "Okay," he mumbled.

"I'll let the doctor know you're awake. He'll want to talk to you. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine," he said softly.

Smiling, she nodded at Brendan and then at Freya. "Okay, just let us know if you think of anything or you start hurting." Freya looked almost as relieved as he felt when the nurse left the room.

_Okay, that was awkward._

Giving him a rueful smile, Freya shrugged her shoulders. "Could have been worse," she said.

"Not thinking about that," said Brendan with a frown. "Back to our earlier conversation, I want to know what happened and how long I've been here." He was feeling more awake and coherent than he'd felt in quite a while. His body ached and his stomach felt sore and abused and he still had a headache, but he didn't feel like someone on death's door, which was how Freya was treating him. That alone was freaking him out. Thinking back as she stared at him, he tried to pull on what he could remember to start the process.

"We were looking for something against Greyson," he said, focusing in on the events he could remember. "The explosion. We found a house with tons of stuff, but it was booby-trapped . . ." _I kept getting sicker and sicker. _She winced at that thought and he knew he'd hit a sore spot for her. He snapped his fingers and sat up straighter. "Grandmother's house . . . "

Reluctantly, Freya nodded and plopped down in the chair next to the bed. "You aren't giving up, are you?" She took his silence as the affirmation it was meant to be. "Fine. You figured out to look for the grandmother's house, which Terri did. We were leaving to take you home because you were so sick and –"

"Sniper," Brendan said, the memory flooding in. He'd felt like a sitting duck, exposed in the open with no way to find the shooter.

"Yes, there was a sniper in a building across the street and he nicked your side with a bullet, which was why you were brought to the hospital. Kunzel and Patel were able to tie the would-be-assassin to Greyson, by the way. Anyway, the bullet wound was minor, but the doctor was concerned about how sick you were."

Nodding, Brendan was relieved to have some of the memories falling back into place. "I remember now. Terri found the grandmother's house and you went." He scratched his head and scowled at the way the memories suddenly seemed to fuzz over. "It gets kind of cloudy after that."

Freya sighed and stood back up, walking over to take his hand. "Well, the good news is that we found the grandmother's house and the gun Greyson used. Ballistics matched it to the bullet that killed Agent Porter and we have a witness that saw Greyson coming and going from the house several times after the murder. His goose is cooked, with or without your testimony."

His gut tightened at her wording and the tension flowing through her body into his through her hand. "And the bad news?"

"Do you remember Mrs. McCracken visiting you after I left to go search the grandmother's house?"

Focusing his thoughts, Brendan had flashes of images, but nothing concrete. "I'm not sure . . . maybe . . . I just can't be sure."

"Well, she did. Brendan . . . there's no easy way to say this. She was poisoning you. She'd been doing it for several days, but when she visited you in the hospital, she gave you a huge dose."

He knew that surely he had heard her wrong. He felt a little like he'd been slapped, but the sensation was all too familiar. "What?" he asked dumbly, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"She's a friend of your Aunt Francine. They met ten years ago, after Mrs. McCracken lost her husband, and they became best friends. Apparently your Aunt rattled on about her version of what happened with your mom and took her new friend with her to visit. She's convinced Mrs. McCracken that you are evil and the source of all family troubles and . . . "

Looking down at the bed, his expression one of turmoil, Brendan filled in the words that Freya found she could not. "They think my mom was locked up unfairly and that my support of it led to her death. They think I killed my mother by keeping her in there."

Freya squeezed his hand, but it didn't seem to dull the pain in his heart. He knew his mother was sick, unstable. He knew she was a danger, mostly to herself. He knew none of that was his fault. And yet he could never shake the sense of guilt, the feeling that there was something he should have done differently.

"Mrs. McCracken seems to be pretty unstable herself. She thought she was doing Francine some kind of favor, avenging her sister and all that. She's been putting a mixture of two poisons in your water bottles, your orange juice, and any food that she gave you."

Snapping his head up and trying to clear out the cobwebs, he stared at his partner. "Okay, I understand the food. She fed me once and gave me some nice leftovers a couple of times, but how did she get to the stuff in my refrigerator?" From the look on Freya's face, he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"That night you helped her move furniture . . . "

Brendan smacked himself in the forehead. "I gave her my key to borrow some flour from my apartment. When she came back, she had gone to the store instead, something about hating to borrow from neighbors. She made a copy of my key and I just let her." Of all the rookie mistakes. He'd let his guard down . . . hell, he'd never even put it up, all because she was an old woman. He'd walked right into this with blinders on. He'd be lucky if he didn't end up on the local police force walking a beat after the mistakes he'd made.

Naturally, Freya picked up on his unguarded thoughts. "Brendan, I'm pretty sure no one could have predicted something like this. Oh, and it turns out her husband died after several weeks of unexplained illness. They cited heart failure on his death certificate, but it was based on some age-related assumptions and a history of high blood pressure. They're exhuming his body to test for cadmium and antimony poisoning. It seems his symptoms were very much like yours."

"So, she really is nuts," he said sourly.

"Of the large, mixed variety," Freya deadpanned.

Tension began to flow out of Brendan as he processed her words and began to laugh. It was laugh or cry at this point, and somehow laughing seemed the better choice, especially after Freya joined him. He thought maybe he sounded a bit hysterical as he pulled his knees up to ease the ache in his stomach and sore ribs, but he didn't care. They were still alive and the bad guys . . . and girls . . . were behind bars. He could deal with the rest later.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: **Thank you very much for reading. Hope you enjoyed.

**Inside Out - Chapter 8**

Freya pushed the door open, hurrying inside the hospital room. "Sorry, Brendan, I didn't mean to be gone so long," she explained, anxious to see how her partner was doing. She found him lying on his side, the head of the bed slightly elevated. His left hand was extended out on top of the covers, probably a sign of him being mindful of the remaining IV line. His eyes opened for a split second until he met her gaze and then closed again.

"S'kay . . . mostly sleeping," he mumbled in a barely audible voice.

She stopped at the foot of the bed, studying the slight frown on his face and noting his semi-curled posture. "Does your stomach hurt again?" she asked, worried about how much pain in he'd been in since waking.

_Doesn't really hurt . . . just uncomfortable._

Freya draped her coat over the back of the chair and walked over to stand beside him. Leaning forward a little, she gently brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. "You want me to call the nurse?"

Hazel eyes flickered open and gazed intently at her. He swallowed a couple of times and blinked heavily, still showing signs of being on heavy medication. "No . . . had Jell-o."

"What?" she asked, eyes widening. "You ate Jell-0?"

_Half a bowl. Staying down so far, too._

Smiling, Freya tried to look encouraging in a battle to dissuade the waves of sadness and fatigue rolling off her ill partner. "Hey, it's a start. Bill Cosby would be proud of you."

He tried to smile and managed to snort softly. "Want chocolate pudding . . . next time."

Freya watched him closely, lying listlessly on the bed in the absolute antithesis of his normal self. His eyes were distant and unfocused, his thoughts sluggish and disjointed. Random images seemed to flash through his head. His mother with her bottle of medicine, Greyson shooting Porter in the face, Brendan kneeling beside his toilet, vomiting until his throat burned and his eyes watered. Mrs. McCracken smiling sweetly and holding out a covered dish of food as she stood in the door of his apartment. He closed his eyes and seemed to somehow slump lower into the mattress.

"Brendan, none of this is your fault; you know that, right? None of this is because of you. Your mom had the problems, not you. Mrs. McCracken had the problems, not you. You've just been unfortunate enough to be the focus of their illness, but it could have just as easily been someone else if circumstances had been different."

"I know," he rasped, opening his eyes to look up at her. He made another attempt at smiling, coming slightly closer this time. _I know all that, I really do. I just need time to deal with everything. I'll be okay._

"Promise?" she said playfully, trying in vain to hide the worry that gnawed deep inside her.

"Promise," he said, his voice a little stronger. He grasped her hand and squeezed in an obvious attempt to comfort her. He scooted around, trying to turn on his back. The weakness that made the simple act seem almost impossibly difficult did nothing to diminish Freya's concern and she quickly found herself helping him get settled. The effort left him breathless and she bit her lip, realizing just how slow a recovery this might be. The fact that he'd been none-too-healthy when the whole thing started was probably making things worse.

Freya took Brendan's hand and met his eyes. She had a confession to make, and she figured now was the time to finally make it. He'd be finding out soon enough, with or without her admittance. "Brendan, I need to tell you something," she began.

"What?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. _What have you done, Freya McAllister? I know that look._

Cringing, Freya realized she could poker-face pretty much anyone but the man before her. She smiled sheepishly. "I . . . okay, first of all, you know I was really worried about you, right? Well, I may have called-"

The door burst open, admitting a tall man with gray hair who moved quickly to the foot of the bed, pulling his rolling suitcase upright to stand unaided. "Brendan?" he asked breathlessly, lines of concern etched deeply into his handsome face.

"Dad?" Brendan gasped. Understanding suddenly flooded his face and his thoughts and he turned to her. "You called my Dad?"

Jeff Dean put a hand on his son's lower leg. "Don't get mad at Freya, son. She was worried about you, and rightfully so it would seem. I was able to talk to the doctor in the hall just now and he said you had a pretty close call." The older man's expression seemed to falter a bit. "Why didn't you call me, tell me how sick you were?"

Gazing down at his covered legs, Brendan shrugged his shoulders. "I knew you'd worry, that you'd come. I just thought . . . thought it'd pass . . . I'd be okay."

Jeff's expression softened and he shook his head once. "You didn't want to be a bother. Brendan . . . " He walked over to the side of the bed and let the railing down. Sitting on the side of the bed, he reached out to embrace his sick son. _He's even thinner than before. When is he going to get a break? _Freya didn't mean to tap into the images of him holding onto his five-year old son as he puked into a trash can.

"Oh, Dad." Brendan choked out, holding onto his father tightly. In his mind, he was clutching his arms around his father's neck as the man carried his frail boy to car in the middle of the night. _I'm so glad you're here._

Smiling, Freya slipped quietly out into the hall, now confident that she had done the right thing.

oOo

Freya was standing in the waiting room, staring out the window at the adjacent brick wall of the hospital when Jeff Dean came to get her almost twenty minutes later. His thoughts gave him away as he shuffled up to stand just behind her. "Thank you for coming," she said softly.

His breath ruffled her hair as he chuckled. "As if I wouldn't. Thank you for calling. Brendan . . . he doesn't want to bother anyone . . . doesn't want to get in the way," he stammered. Another dry chuckle followed as the man turned away from her, prompting Freya to turn toward him. "I think . . . I think that's because of . . . what happened. He was so sick for so long and we had to constantly care for him. At some point, he just got tired of always having people take care of him, of being the focus of everything all the time. He was so young and so . . . " His voice trailed off, but his mind didn't. Disturbing images of Brendan's childhood illness flashed like movie previews through the man's head, making Freya wonder just how long it had gone on. _I thought he was going to die._

Instinctively, she reached out to grip his arm, not sure of what to say, but desperate to comfort him. "I guess that's why he tries to ignore it every time he gets sick or hurt. I sometimes get the impression he just wants to shoo me away."

The laugh held a little more humor this time. "He started doing that when he was very young, I guess as soon as he got over the . . . poisoning." The last word was obviously still a struggle for the man to say. "He got the flu when he was in junior high school, but he just kept acting like was okay. The school called me when his fever shot up and he threw up in the hallway and then promptly passed out cold. They couldn't believe I had let him go to school in that condition. When I questioned him, he just said he didn't want to get behind and do poorly and that he didn't think he was that sick."

"Same old Brendan," said Freya with a sigh. "He doesn't want to let anyone down, to not get the job done, so he just keeps pushing and pushing, oblivious of the fact that he's driving himself too hard. I kind of have to remind him to eat sometimes."

"He's always done that," said Jeff with a small smile. "He gets so focused on some project and it's like the rest of the world just dissolves away. He lost almost five pounds while working on his senior research paper. I'd take him food when he was too busy to come to dinner and then next thing I knew, I was cleaning out still full plates from his room." He turned to her, with the brightest smile she'd seen yet. "He's lucky to have you around. I feel better knowing there's someone close by keeping an eye on him, someone who understands what's going on and can help him deal with it."

"I'm not sure how much I'm helping him deal with things, but I can sure watch his back when he needs it," said Freya, slightly embarrassed.

"You are helping," he said firmly. "Brendan said he'd have been at a total loss without you after his mother passed away. He tends to keep everything in with most people, but I think he feels differently about you. He trusts you in ways he doesn't trust most people." Jeff snorted and shook his head. "Listen to me, getting all emotional and talking too much. Just know that you are very special and important to him and that I'm grateful for your help. And if we don't get back soon, I know of a sick man who will come after us."

Grinning, Freya nodded. "Now _that _I believe." She joined the elder Dean as they walked back to the hospital room. When she pushed the door open, she first thought Brendan was asleep, but he opened his eyes and smiled.

_Guess I owe you again._

Freya just smiled and nodded at him as she walked over to stand beside him. "So, does this mean I'm forgiven for butting in and calling your father?"

"Forgiven," Brendan said softly before narrowing his gaze at her. "Just don't let it happen again."

"No promises," she said with a snort. "How are you feeling?" Although he still looked ill, she was pleased to see a little color in his cheeks.

"Better," he admitted, giving his dad a lop-sided grin.

"Great," she said, pulling up a chair so that she would be closer to the bed. She watched Jeff do the same, taking a seat on the other side of the bed. "Okay, now I want some really embarrassing stories about Brendan when he was a kid."

Groaning loudly, Brendan closed his eyes. "I changed my mind. I don't feel so good."

Freya laughed. Fifteen minutes later all three of them were laughing and Freya was feeling better than she had in weeks. Although looking tired, Brendan no longer appeared so battered and worn down. "We should probably let you rest," she said, adjusting the sheet where it had pulled loose and lay in disarray.

The door to the room opened and Freya glanced around, expecting one of the nurses. It felt like the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees in an instant. Francine's large form stood in the door, her expression surprised as she took in Jeff's presence.

_What's he doing here? He'll no doubt try to protect the little mutt. And the girl looks familiar. Where have I seen . . . ah, the funeral. Brendan's little whore girlfriend._

Jeff stood up as the woman entered the room, his efforts at schooling his expression not completely successful. _She better not lay into Brendan. Not now, not while he's so sick. _"Francine, what a nice surprise," he said neutrally.

Sighing loudly, Francine walked the rest of the way in the room and allowed the door to close behind her. She stood glaring at Brendan from the foot of the bed. _Well, I guess he does kind of look sick, but surely it couldn't have been that bad. _"I heard you were in the hospital. I understand Vera . . . look, I didn't know anything about that. I still can't believe she would do such a thing. She's always so sweet to everyone else. What did you do to her?"

Jeff took two steps toward his sister-in-law. "Francine, Brendan is still recovering from what your _friend _did to him. He did nothing but show her kindness and this is how she reacted. She had her mind made up to do this even before she met him." His eyes narrowed dangerously in a look Freya had seen on Brendan's face more than once. "She was acting on information given to her by _someone else, _someone who had her convinced that Brendan deserved this. Well, look at him, Francine. Does he? Do you think he's just getting what he deserves?"

Brendan had sunk down as low in the bed as he could go, given his injured side and weakened condition. Dread radiated off him in waves, prompting his partner to stand up and take his hand. She could feel him trembling beneath her fingers, images of the large woman when she was younger standing over him, scolding him for being a bad seed. He leaned his head back into the pillows and drew his legs up, grasping his free arm around his stomach with a low groan.

"Brendan?" Freya's attention was now focused on Brendan, the hateful woman behind her forgotten. "I'll get the nurse."

"No," he gasped, tightening his grip on her hand and opening his eyes. His expression eased, as did the tightness of his muscles. "It's . . . s'kay . . . just hurt for a moment. Better now." A light shudder ran through his body, his eyes now becoming heavy-lidded. The visit followed by the confrontation had obviously worn him out.

Freya turned to Francine, not caring if she was overstepping her bounds. "I think you should leave now. Brendan needs more rest."

Concern flickered across Francine's face. _The boy does look miserable. Maybe he really is sick this time. _"I'm leaving. Look, Brendan . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry about what Vera did and . . . I hope you feel better." She took a step back, the room silent except for her slightly labored breathing.

Jeff seemed to almost deflate where he stood. "Thank you, Francine. We . . . we appreciate that."

"Thanks for coming by," Brendan said weakly, clutching the covers in one fist and Freya's hand in the other. He was fighting a losing battle against a lifetime of fear.

Francine nodded at them while backing up another step. She startled badly when the nurse walked in just behind her. Dodging the small woman, she hurried out the door as Freya watched her retreating back. _I still think he must have provoked her somehow. _Sighing, Freya shook her head and looked down at Brendan's confused expression, shrugging her shoulders.

"Weird," Brendan breathed out.

"Looks like you're a popular guy today," said the nurse, looking every bit of about fifteen with her bobbed dark hair and big, blue eyes.

Brendan moved his eyes back to his partner, who had moved to one side, as the nurse began taking his pulse. _She still thinks all of this is my fault, doesn't she?_

"You know, Brendan, it doesn't matter what she thinks," said Freya. "What matters is you getting better. It's probably not my place to say, but your Aunt is no Sherlock Holmes when it comes to knowing people and figuring out what's going on."

"Listen to her," said his father, having moved back to his chair beside the bed. "It didn't take long for me to figure out that your partner is pretty smart. Francine . . . well, she tends to be narrow minded and set in her beliefs. Once she makes up her mind about something . . . or someone . . .she's focused on that to the exclusion of anything that contradicts it. She was also fiercely protective of your mother."

"_That _I definitely remember," Brendan said wryly.

Jeff reached out to grip his son's arm. "Don't let her get to you kid. Francine has always been a bit of a thorn in the side and I don't see that changing anytime soon. Fortunately for us all, she's basically harmless."

"Mr. Dean," the nurse said during the pause. "Your pressure is quite a bit higher than it's been the last few days. Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm okay," Brendan replied, looking down at his hand twisting the sheet. "Just had a lot of excitement today, I guess."

"I think we should let Mr. Dean get some rest," the nurse said, directly her comments to Freya and then Jeff.

Brendan's head shot up, his eyes wide and panicked. "They don't have to leave, do they?"

Shrugging her shoulders, the nurse didn't look happy. "I don't know, it might be for the best. You really need to rest so you don't set yourself back."

"I will," he promised, his voice edging up a notch in pitch. He sounded a little like a scared child and Freya realized that that was exactly what his father was seeing. A scared little boy of five, wanting desperately to feel better and to go home, but most of all, not to be left alone. Her heart ached at the pain in both father and son.

"I guess if you will promise to get some sleep and if your guests will promise to let you, they can stay."

"I promise," said Brendan fervently.

"We do too," agreed Jeff.

When the nurse looked at her, Freya brought up her best smile. "We'll just sit quietly with him so he's not alone. I honestly think he'll rest better that way after everything that's happened." She had no idea if the woman knew what had transpired, but she thought it was worth a shot.

"Okay," the nurse nodded. "I'll just peek in after while and make sure." She did a final check of Brendan's covers and left.

They all breathed out a collective sigh of relief when the door closed, leaving them alone. "Wow," said Brendan. "That whole looking like she's twelve thing is pretty deceiving. She should be in the military."

oOo

_Angela Sheppard pushed the bottle toward Brendan's face. "Take your medicine!" Her soft expression was in direct contrast with the hardness of her voice. "If you love me, you'll take your medicine like a good boy."_

_Everything spun for a few moments and then Vera McCracken was at his open door, pushing a plastic container of food in his hands. "I brought you some dinner, Brendan, prepared especially for you. Now be a good boy and eat. You're entirely too thin and we need to fix that, starting right now."_

_Another session of spinning and then Francine was over him, waving her hands, her face red and angry. "Everything is your fault! You drove my sister crazy and then my best friend. You're a menace, Brendan Dean, a menace. One day someone is going to take care of you! Mark my words," she spat out, spittle literally spraying over Brendan._

_Faces and fog spun around nauseatingly, accusing voices all running together into one giant storm cloud._

Freya jumped from her seat, pacing around the room while her partner stirred and groaned restlessly. Should she wake him or not? She'd momentarily tapped into his dreams, trying to get a handle on what was disturbing his sleep so consistently. What she found was pretty much what she had expected.

"Think we should wake him?" Jeff's concerned voice startled her. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts about Brendan, she'd forgotten that he was there.

"I'm not sure. The nightmares are really bothering him this time, but if we wake him, he'll won't be able to get back to sleep anytime soon."

"I know," Jeff nodded with a slight sigh. "That's exactly what I was thinking. He needs some real rest."

The question became moot when Brendan sat straight up in bed with an audible gasp, his panicked eyes scanning the room. They moved in unison to opposite sides of the bed.

"It's okay, son," soothed Jeff. "We're here."

Freya took her partner's hand as he looked first at his father and then over to her. Letting out a deep breath, he eased back down to the pillows. "Bad dream," he breathed out.

Freya gave his hand a quick squeeze and then went to bathroom to dampen a cloth. Sweat had bathed his face and wet his hairline. She could hear his father's voice, talking softly to him, calming and reassuring him. She felt a momentary pain rush through her, missing her own father as she squeezed the excess water from the cloth. But Brendan needed her, so she focused on that and returned to his side, gently wiping his face. It was a testament to how weary he was that he let her without so much as a glare.

"Harper came by while you were sleeping," she said, trying to draw his attention away from the nightmare. "He said he hoped you were feeling better. I think Terri, Kunzel, and Patel are coming by later to generally harass and annoy you."

A small smile flickered across his lips. "No one there to drive them crazy right now."

"Exactly," Freya replied, setting the cloth on the rollaway table.

"Not for long, I'm betting," added Jeff with a pat on Brendan's arm.

"Ever the encouraging father," Brendan said, winking at Freya before flashing a small grin to his dad.

"Hey, it's my job and I take my job very seriously." Jeff crossed his arms and gave a very firm and exaggerated nod.

Brendan actually laughed at that. "So I've noticed." But his expression quickly sobered as he turned his attention back to Freya. "Did Harper have anything to say about the case?"

Sighing, Freya wondered if Brendan was a bit psychic and hadn't bothered to mention it. She had hoped to steer the conversation in a different direction. But he had her eyes and he already knew the answer before she even opened her mouth. And she knew he knew, which meant no evading the question.

"Fine, yes, he did."

"Spill it. All of it."

A quick glance to Jeff gave her a tiny nod of approval, one she was just now realizing she needed. "They exhumed the body of Vera McCracken's husband and they found traces of the same poisons she used on you. This time when they confronted her, she finally confessed to both crimes. Her husband was having health problems and she said he whined and complained all the time and she just got tired of it. She evidently was a long time fan of crime novels and she decided to poison him. She spent months researching it, wanting something slow that would give the idea of him being in poor health so when he died, no one would be suspicious. She apparently started rambling soon after that, so they weren't able to get much more out of her. She did admit to poisoning you somewhere during the interview. Made a copy of your key that time you helped her and then snuck in your apartment and added small amounts to your water and orange juice. She put bigger doses in the food she brought you, thinking it would be more likely to mask any taste differences. They found traces of one or both poisons in some of the stuff they tested from your apartment."

"I just don't understand how someone you don't even know can hate you enough to try to kill you," Brendan said, shaking his head sadly.

"She's nuts, Brendan, off her rocker," said Freya. "She killed her husband because he was ill and getting too needy for her. Who does that? Crazy people, that's who. This does not actually have anything to do with you. She would have probably gone after someone else if it hadn't been you."

"When people are always trying to kill you like this, you have to wonder if it's not something about you. I discovered one person was trying to kill me through the efforts of someone else trying to kill me at the same time. That isn't normal." Brendan looked so tired and miserable, it made Freya want to punch someone, with McCracken and Greyson being at the top of her list.

"You need to get away," said Jeff suddenly. He snapped his fingers a few times and then pointed at Brendan. "We all need to get away for a few days and I know just the place."

"Dad, I'm in the hospital," Brendan said patiently, waving one hand around the room.

Jeff sighed. "I know that, son. But you'll be out in a few days and I think you could use some serious down time. I have a friend with a house on the beach. He's offered it for me to use several times in the past few years, but I never had time to accept. What if I get us a few days and we all go. We could lie out on the beach and do basically nothing. They have a nighttime concert series or we could just sit on the deck and look at the stars."

Freya brightened and looked down to see how Brendan was reacting. He looked very uncertain and she could feel and see the argument coming. "Dad, I don't know. Maybe we should stick around here in case-"

"They won't need you," Freya interrupted, knowing what he was about to suggest. "Harper said you are not to darken the office doorway until the doctor has completely cleared you. That's going to be a while and you know it."

"What if they need me to testify?"

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "Greyson's lawyer is in the process of stalling things until he figures out what to do. Besides, they have more than enough evidence without you to convict him of a whole list of things. You _need _this Brendan."

Brendan yawned and rubbed the side of his face. He looked for several moments at Freya and then at his father. With a long sigh, he finally nodded. "Fine, we'll go."

Jeff grinned, his relief evident in the drop of his shoulders. "Good. As soon as I talk to the doctor and find out when you're likely to be well enough to go, I'll make the arrangements."

After a few moments, the tension seemed to drain from Brendan as he sagged down deeper into the mattress. "I guess it could be kind of fun to get away a few days. I haven't done that in a long time."

"I know Director Harper will be happy," said Freya with a sly smile. "He's been trying to get you to take some vacation since I got there."

"Oh, man," Brendan sighed. "By the time I get back to work, I'll have forgotten what I'm supposed to be doing. I feel like I've already been off forever."

Rolling her eyes, Freya shook her head once. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. I'm more worried that you've forgotten how to relax."

"Not a chance." Clasping his hands behind his head, Brendan smiled at the pair. "I'll probably have to show you guys how to relax and have fun." Freya and Jeff just snorted loudly.

oOo

"How about something to drink?"

Brendan forced his eyes open, squinting even though he was wearing sunglasses. The warmth of the sun had relaxed him until his body almost didn't want to respond to his commands. Blinking up at his father from the lawn chair he was sprawled on, he took in the glasses on the tray. "Lemonade?"

"Yes," his father responded while transferring two of the glasses to the small table beside the lawn chair. "You've been drinking your water like you should, so I thought I'd treat you to something with a little more flavor." He proceeded around his son's chair to hand Freya the last glass.

"Thanks," Brendan said, pushing himself up enough to grab one of the glasses and pull some of the ice cold drink through a straw. "Nice," he drawled lazily as he set the glass back down and relaxed.

"Did you use sunscreen?"

Brendan resisted the urge to sigh, reminding himself that they were just worried. "Freya already grilled me, but yes I have on sunscreen, SPF 100 or some other ungodly high number, and yes it's fresh and yes, I applied it evenly. And if you're interested, I remembered to put on clean underwear this morning." His defense speech over, Brendan closed his eyes, stretching out to take full advantage of the sun. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt, and the sun felt good against his skin. They had been right – he had needed this. He should probably tell them . . . maybe later. A snicker to his right told him he didn't need to confess to Freya.

"You're welcome," she said with a chuckle.

"What?" asked Jeff, just settling himself into his chair on Brendan's left.

Brendan made a face at Freya before turning back to his father. "I said thanks for making me come. This is nice."

His father cocked an eyebrow at him, as if he wasn't convinced, but then nodded and settled back in the chair. "You're welcome. You may be grown up now, but that doesn't mean I don't still know what you need. I've been your father for a long time now."

"My whole life," Brendan quipped.

"I'll ignore that since you're still recovering."

Brendan pretended not to notice the look Freya was giving him. "That's mighty fatherly of you."

Jeff's hand whipped out and smacked him on the upper arm so fast, there was no time to react. "Ow! Should you be hitting me in my weakened condition? Child abuse!"

"Child abuse my ass. I can probably still turn you over my knee, kiddo."

"Dad," Brendan whined, sulking down into the chair a little further. His father's laughter dissipated any annoyance he may have felt. He knew the man had been worried about him and he hated that. He'd already spent too much time worrying about his sick son. Brendan just wanted to be well and whole, to not have people watching over him.

"Brendan," his father said quietly. "How are you doing . . . really?"

"Better," he said honestly. When mealtime rolled around, his stomach growled instead of churning. They had followed the doctor's suggestion of five small meals a day instead of three larger ones and that seemed to help. He was not allowed anything the slightest bit spicy, which was driving him nuts, but he much preferred that to endless bouts of puking, so he was being good. Drinking lots of water was the easiest thing on the list since he normally did that anyway. Now if they'd just let him have his morning coffee back, he'd be in pretty good shape.

"What about the nightmares?"

Cringing, Brendan was thankful for the sunglasses. "I think . . . uh, maybe a little better." They didn't seem quite as frightening, but he thought maybe that was because he was getting used to them. As for frequency, that didn't seem to have changed much. At least maybe he was building up some resistance to Aunt Francine.

"Well, we've still got three days to whip you into shape."

"Doesn't look like anyone is doing much whipping right now," said Brendan lazily, his eyes getting heavy behind the dark glasses. He could almost feel the tension leaking out of his body, dripping onto the hot sand below. He smiled at the mental imagery he had created and noted the lack of movement from the people on either side of him.

"Maybe later," said Freya, her voice sounding as lethargic as he felt.

"Yeah . . . later," murmured his father softy. A few minutes later Brendan could hear light snores drifting across the breeze from his left. He grinned to himself and opened his eyes, letting his head roll to the right so he could see Freya. Prepared to make a joke about his father, he was surprised to see Freya's eyes closed as well from the narrow slit between her face and the lenses. Her breathing seemed deep and even. He let his head roll back to its original position and closed his eyes again, a big smile on his face. They had needed the rest every bit as much as him, he realized. The bedside vigil was really hard on a person, something he hadn't remembered until just now. Suddenly he felt very lucky to have two people this worried and concerned about him and vowed not to resent their hovering in the future . . . well, at least not as much.

Brendan couldn't help but be tickled though. _So these are the people that think they're going to whip me into shape, huh?_

"You better believe it," said Freya softly, a sly smile on her face.

_That's so not fair!_

THE END


End file.
